


Above Ground

by Yin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 476,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yin/pseuds/Yin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dexter Grif really only ever wanted to keep himself and his sister out of trouble, and maybe get a few naps in while he was at it. But chance encounters end up putting him in the thick of a battle to save his home.</p>
<p>...Figures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters…they are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter One:

The dim lighting of the small mining tunnel blinked and flickered momentarily, threatening to plunge the entire corridor into pitch darkness.

“…The power’s still shitty in this area too, huh?” Grif’s voice was speaking in its usual lazy tone, and he was surprised at how he was still able to act apathetic given the situation.

Very few things unnerved him anymore, but being stuck in a small, enclosed space in total darkness _was not_ something he was all too keen on doing. … _Ever_.

It was bad enough that most of the worst moments of his young life always seemed to magically happen at night: their dad leaving for who-knows-where when Kaikaina was still a baby; their mother abandoning them for some weird sideshow freak act only a few years later; getting evicted from their shitty apartment only a couple months after that; having to live off the street until they could move into an even shittier apartment later on; those Above Ground dicks vandalizing and picking fights; Kai sometimes going missing and forgetting to even message him…just to name a few night-time instances he’d rather not dwell on.

But then his stupid friend Tucker had recently given him some information on some Earth animals called “bats” that kind of scared the shit out of him.

…Granted, he’d never seen anything remotely resembling the images of bats Tucker had shown him in The Slums and the vast networks of tunnels and mining shafts that were located around and below the underground settlement. It seemed fairly likely that the species hadn’t even been transplanted from Earth before the means to travel to humanity’s home-world had been cut off completely, but that didn’t keep his imagination from seeing the damned things in every darkened corner he moved past now.

Knowing his luck, he’d probably find the only bat in existence on this colony world…and just then the power would kick off completely and some mutated, alien flying rodent would be biting his face.

He shuddered at the scenario, however implausible it probably was.

If the old miner he’d directed his initial question at took offense to that sort of language being used by an eighteen-year-old delivery boy, he gave no indication of it.

Instead, he cast tired-looking eyes over at the lighting panels off to the sides of the hallway. Wires were dangling from one of them in a rather haphazard way that no doubt wasn’t up to any kinds of safety or power guidelines anywhere.

“…Name a place in The Slums where the power isn’t shitty and I’ll double your fee.”

Grif spat off to the side, “And do extra work to find it? No thanks.”

The old man smiled wryly, “Figured you’d say that even if it wasn’t a damn near impossible task anyways.”

He finished counting out the money he owed Grif on his credit chip for the supply run and Grif handed him the storage container of power cells needed to help run some of the equipment and portable lighting located further down in the corridor. It was always best to bring your own, just in case something _did_ finally cause the power to shut down in the shafts, after all.

“Do you want to help out here for some extra credit or do you have more rounds to do?”

The man would always ask thst question, though it was more routine now than him expecting a change in the boy’s response. Maybe he was just hoping for Grif to reconsider his stance: mining was dangerous, yes, but it was honest work and the pay was better than most jobs people in The Slums could get and there were benefits too, which could help Kai as well. He’d been a former neighbor of the Grif siblings and had helped to set Grif up as an errand boy when he’d been desperate to support himself and his little sister. Now that Grif was of legal age, perhaps he thought that a mining job would be the safest bet for him.

Touched as he might be by the sentiment behind the question, Grif had no real desire or inclination to be a miner. The risks outweighed the benefits in his head and even without taking those into consideration, you were gone for days sometimes depending on the job since the resources closer to the The Slums were heavily depleted. Who knows what kind of trouble his sister could get into then? Well, Grif could _guess_ …he just preferred not to for his own sanity.

Besides, the pay for doing odd jobs was decent enough now that he had established himself to make something of a living on. If Grif was comfortable with a routine, he was damned sure not to try to change it anytime soon.

“I have more rounds to do and I have to check on Kai still.”

The older man nodded, “If you change your mind, let me know.”

“Thanks.” Grif gave a small wave and hurried off back towards the more well-maintained areas of The Slums, casting nervous glances in all directions to try to prevent imaginary bat attacks whenever the recess lighting dimmed and flickered.

 

*****

Stepping back out into the overcrowded “metropolis” ( _he was pretty sure that description was only used because “the shithole where most of the people lived” was too wordy_ ) that made up The Slums proper from the mining tunnels was always an odd experience.

Unlike in the tunnels and shafts, the cavern was relatively well-lit beyond the odd power glitches every area would have once in awhile and the need for constant maintenance work: a throwback from the days when the place had actually been established as a proper mining colony, before a majority of the valuable resources were completely depleted and the more privileged and tech-savvy colonists abandoned the place to live on the planet’s surface away from the rest of the squabble once everyone realized that, for whatever reason, regaining contact with Earth or any of her other colonies or stations was a lost cause. …All of that had happened generations before Grif’s time though, so he only knew the recorded accounts.

From what he could gather, the lighting was only a few shades dimmer than the sun of the old solar system since it had long been established that exposure to sunlight helped promote health. There was a built-in day and night cycle as well, to give people the sense of living outside.

…Of course, Grif had never seen the actual sun of the old solar system or been anywhere close to topside: you had to get a pass for that— which meant you were deemed “valuable” enough to live and work in Above Ground or the other alternative was that you were forcibly being brought up there as a prisoner or indentured servant. One of those things he doubted would ever be a possibility for someone like him, the other he’d be damned if he ever allowed to happen, so he had to take the records’ words and what others said on the subject at face value.

He stepped out of the tunnel’s entrance, the door sealing shut behind him with a soft “hiss” and rubbed his eyes as they watered while trying to adjust to the sudden influx of light beating down on them.

The Slums were huge: blocks of buildings built hastily around, upon, and over one another. There were maps and directories to try to explain the chaotic madness of the design scheme, but Grif never bothered trying to look at them. He doubted he’d ever see the entirety of the place and he’d grown up here. Whenever he was directed to go to an area he wasn’t familiar with yet, he simply found the easiest route there and made a mental note about it. Finding a ton of different routes to a spot he’d probably only ever go to once or twice was far too much of a hassle.

There were “levels” to The Slums as well, with elevators or trans-shuttles one could take to the different subsections or one could use the mining tunnels and shafts, but you had to be familiar enough with them to not get lost and know which ones were in stable enough condition to still be used without any risks. The lower levels were the most cramped and uncomfortable to live in levels. Naturally, they were the most densely populated areas, though population relocation projects were being implemented to move people to the higher levels as residential buildings were finished being constructed.

In a way, Grif supposed the layout and housing areas of The Slums had probably made a lot more sense when the planet had first been established as a mining colony. There had been a lot less people then, after all.

But once The Council had been established after all contact with Earth had been lost and resources became limited, things had changed. The population had started to increase, and mining was no longer a means to provide for everyone.

Once the surface of the planet had been successfully terra-formed, it had first been thought that most people would be moved to Above Ground. But The Council only picked about half the population to live there at the time and sealed off the entryways topside to everyone else.

While living mostly forgotten and cut-off from their more “privileged” counterparts, the entire population of The Slums were effectively their prisoners as well given the superior technology The Council had brought with them to Above Ground. Grif had heard mention of really advanced A.I.s that were still being approved upon even now for instance, but he had no idea whether or not that kind of talk was just hearsay.

History records usually showed that any protests went badly and caused more restrictions on supplies for the entire Slums area.

…Above Grounders were assholes then and they were still largely assholes now whenever they showed up. It wasn’t a big shock to Grif that things had always been that way.

Grif supposed that, initially, his family had almost qualified as luckier than most. While not located on the topmost level with its cavernous overhead, they’d been living in one of the less crowded midlevel areas set up for residents. Things had almost been downright decent then.

It hadn’t lasted, though: once both of their parents were out of the picture the young Grif siblings learned all sorts of grown-up words like “rent” and “taxes” in quick succession. Their parents’ less-than-stellar reputations made it hard for any of their neighbors to want to have the two children living with them for more than a short term basis and, truthfully, there wasn’t a ton of room in residency housing for two extra mouths either given how small most apartments were. They’d been shipped down to the lower levels pretty soon after, where the homeless, squatters, and the cheapest places to rent or buy were.

But it wasn’t too horrible an experience, all in all. …Save for Kai crying a ton: _that_ was one memory Grif tried to constantly get out of his head.

It had made the horribly lazy, disinterested in everything Dexter Grif become responsible and a somewhat functioning member of society: stepping in to fill the roles of both absent parents for his heartbroken little sister. That counted for something, at least.

And while their former neighbors couldn’t offer them permanent housing due to their own personal dilemmas, many of them, like the miner he’d just helped out, gave him contacts that helped to establish Grif as an all-around errand/delivery boy in The Slums. With the money he had gotten from that, he and Kai had been able to afford a surprisingly decent for the cheap price place to call “home”— once they could afford new locks and a security system later on down the road, of course.

…And they’d also found a new friend in Tucker, too. He’d been the first person to introduce himself to the two when they had first moved to Low Town, the name for the lowest level residency area— and when he wasn’t trying to practice putting his questionable “dating moves” on Kai for which Grif would repeatedly threaten to kick his ass for given that his sister was four years younger than the two boys, he was a pretty decent guy.

…It had been quite a few years since then, and all in all— Grif couldn’t complain too much about the way things were going for him now.

Well, he could be working less, but he supposed that was just a sacrifice he’d have to make.

The mining tunnel entrance he had just used was located in the sprawling expanse of Level One. It was just as busy as anywhere else in The Slums, but the high-vaulted ceilings towering high overhead gave the illusion of it having more space.

Sometimes, he would climb the ladders and walkways to reach the rafters and support beams keeping the rock above from collapsing on top of the settlement when he just wanted to get away for a little while. It made for an impressive napping spot, his favorite pastime of all.

…But he still had some jobs to do, sadly— so any impromptu naps would have to be avoided despite how oh-so-tempting they were once the thought of them was lodged firmly into his brain.

Sighing in disappointment at the reminder of the work ethic he despised, but still needed to have at the moment Grif went through a mental checklist of the jobs he needed to do still to see if he’d be lucky enough to have one close by.

The only one on Level One he actually had was on the other side of the area from where he was right now. He groaned loudly at the realization.

…That nap idea was getting more and more tempting by the minute.

*****

“…Guess what happened while you were away!”

Lavernius Tucker’s amused tone and the mischievous glint in his brown eyes indicated that whatever it was that had happened was more entertainment to him than a bad thing.

Grif, only mildly curious because _damn it_ he was tired still, looked at his neighbor crossly.

…Well, that, and he was still kind of mad about the whole “bat” situation.

“What?”

Tucker shrugged indifferently at his reaction, “Well if you’re going to act that way, you can just forget it. Maybe I’ll go tell Kai instead…”

Not sure if it was something he would want his little sister knowing yet or not, Grif sighed, “Sorry, Tucker, I just got home and I’m a little tired.”

“Dude, you’re always a little tired. I’m surprised you actually get any work done at all.” Tucker’s comment was a joke, but he almost sounded somewhat impressed.

“And I had to go into the mining shafts too.” Grif shuddered.

“So?” the blank look on the other teen’s face made it pretty apparent that he didn’t see the issue, “You have to go in them pretty much every other day.”

“Yeah, except now I have to worry about bats!”

That took a moment to sink in, but the second it did Tucker burst out laughing, and Grif was seriously considering killing him— even if that probably meant Tucker’s mother would never give him or Kai desert again. …It was that thought alone that kept him only glaring at his friend murderously instead.

“Are you shitting me?” the dark-skinned boy managed to get out in-between gasps of air and fits of laughter, “I’m pretty sure if there were actually bats on this planet they would have bitten you a long time ago, fatass.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t have even known about the damn things if you hadn’t said anything!” he countered, tan cheeks flaring red in embarrassment.

“…Your paranoia’s all on you, dude.” Tucker practically had _tears_ in his eyes from laughing so hard. Grif thought of delicious home-baked cake and other sweets, counting back from ten as he waited for him to finish.

Once the laughter at his expense died down, Tucker managed to get back to business rather quickly, “So…you want to hear about what happened or not?”

They were standing in the common area just outside the residential district in Low Town where both of their apartments were located. There were a few businesses, seedy shops and mechanics, and some food stalls nearby…along with several people either going about their way or shooting the breeze like they were. Grif tried to ignore some of the homeless people sleeping around the area— there seemed to be more of them now and it made him nervous that there was going to be another increase in taxes or rent sometime soon.

Truthfully, he _had_ worked pretty much everywhere today so he’d rather just go home and sleep after checking up on Kai, but he was somewhat curious about whatever seemed to be getting Tucker so excited. Usually that meant interesting news, at least: he wasn’t quite sure how he did it, but Tucker was even more knowledgeable about what was going on in The Slums than Grif was a lot of the times.

“…So what happened then?” he asked the other boy.

Tucker leaned over closer to him conspiratorially, “Some Above Grounders managed to get all the way down here to Low Town!”

“Really?” Grif blinked.

That _was_ surprising.

Every couple of days or so, someone from Above Ground would sneak down into The Slums…usually teenagers who just liked to see if they _could_ do it in the first place.

They would cause a lot of problems: “pranks” by their definition ( _”vandalism” by most others’_ ), and they would disappear back to their haven above to talk all about their experiences with “slumming.”

But they usually never went too far past the upper levels: too much effort or maybe they were just scared of being too cut off from their escape routes back to the surface. They were a pain and a hassle, but nothing that affected Grif too much personally— if he got accosted by one of them during rounds usually in an attempt by one of them to look “tough” to his cohorts, a quick skirmish was just the thing to get them off of his back.

But for some of them actually to be here in Low Town…he wondered what kind of determined mischief-makers they were dealing with this time.

“Yeah,” Tucker nodded his head in affirmation to Grif’s surprised response, “From what I gather though they’ve just been doing the same stupid bullshit they always do: messing up things and just being their usual asshole selves. Teenagers around our age, I guess. …Probably blowing off steam before they’re enrolled in the military.”

Right, Grif had forgotten that it was pretty much mandatory for kids their age who were Above Ground citizens to spend at least a few years getting military training. It had always made him sort of glad he hadn’t been born there: he knew he really didn’t want anything to do with that sort of thing. …Too structured and with too many rules for his slacker lifestyle.

He could almost sympathize with the kids who just wanted to escape for a few days down here from all of that— if they didn’t tend to be such dicks while they were visiting, at any rate.

A new thought crossed his mind then and he glanced around, “Where’s Kai?”

Right, normally both her and Tucker would be waiting around here for him to get off of work. And if there was one thing about the fourteen-year-old was that worried him even more than anything else, it was that his little sister could be a horrible judge of character sometimes.

Tucker seemed to figure out his line of thinking pretty quickly, “Relax, Grif, my mom had a panic attack when she heard the news and made up some excuse about needing help running some errands to keep Kai out of trouble. She’s with her.”

Grif visibly relaxed. Tucker’s mom had taken a pretty strong liking to little Kai when they had first moved here and always tried to keep her from getting into too much trouble as a result of that when Grif wasn’t around: a task that Grif was always grateful and amazed for given how sometimes Kai could even get on his last nerves at times, especially now that she was older and getting into all sorts of trouble he’d never dreamed his little sister would get into earlier in their lives.

“Besides, if I see anyone acting suspicious near her, I’ll kick their asses myself.” Tucker said, momentarily surprising Grif with how serious he sounded.

Grif nodded appreciatively at the comment, glad that Tucker and his mom were such helpful neighbors, “Thanks, Tucker, though you’ll have to beat me to them first.”

Grif was generally lazy and good-for-nothing when it came to most things (of his own volition, of course: he had no doubt he could actually do a lot of things quite well if he could be bothered to do them— look at what he’d done with his small errand business, after all), but the one thing that seemed to motivate him at all was his little sister. It was mainly because he had been so focused on being the parental figure in her life that he did pretty much _anything_ now.

“Dude, all of this bromancing has seriously worked up an appetite and maybe a need for bleach cleaner for my brain.” Tucker looked at him expectantly, “You’re paying, right?”

“What? Since when did we agree to that?”

“My mom and Kai are having dinner out and you just got paid, right?” Tucker’s voice was pleading.

“…Don’t you have your own job?” Grif grumbled, though he was already fishing out his credit chip regardless. He supposed he did owe Tucker and his mom a little bit, and it wasn’t like the food stalls in Low Town were anything expensive anyways.

“Oh, I got fired a couple weeks ago from that one. Apparently the manager wasn’t too thrilled I used my “angel” pickup line on this really hot chick.” The boy paused, frowning, “It’s not my fault though! I didn’t even know he had a wife!”

“…It’s surprising you haven’t gotten shot yet.”

Tucker grinned mischievously, “Who says I haven’t been shot at? I just know when to run really fast.”

*****

While there were some mumblings about the Above Grounders who had managed to sneak all the way down to Low Town, it didn’t really alter the way things operated down there all that much. It was the same thing whenever some of them snuck into The Slums in general: everyone still had their lives to live, so things still happened pretty much the way they always did.

…So long as you weren’t one of the people they chose to give a hard time to or whose property they vandalized or “borrowed”— things were fine.

If you happened to be one of those unfortunates, well, life just sucked and there wasn’t much you could do about it. There were no legal recourses one could take against Above Grounders in particular since Slum residents weren’t considered proper citizens in the first place.

So, after Tucker’s initial comment on the topic, Grif had kind of let the matter drop from his head. He had to focus on keeping Kai out of trouble and on his work too.

“Dex, look at this one!”

Grif groaned inwardly, glancing over at the tank top that his sister was gushing over in the store window.

“…Not in a million years, Kai.”

She pouted, “You suck!”

It was their usual mode of interaction when they met outside of home and Grif wasn’t busy with errands. They argued, but never to any vehement level. In a weird way, Grif had gotten used to the routine: they’d started doing it after their mom had left, probably to avoid thinking of any subjects that were too serious or too unsettling to dwell on at the time.

“What I don’t get is why they always make clothes gray.”

“It’s red.” Not a color Grif was particularly fond of himself, “Maybe we should get that color blindness of yours tested again.”

The fourteen-year-old frowned, “I didn’t like doing that the first time. Those doctors were worse than cops!”

…Well, Grif couldn’t argue there. When she was younger, a lot of people had been curious about Kai’s medical condition because it was something that usually only affected men: they had been far too enthusiastic in trying to research it, which had understandably freaked the then only three-years-old girl out.

Her law enforcement issues came from how the two of them were treated when they had been evicted from their previous home. Grif couldn’t necessarily blame her for either viewpoint, really.

While he was mulling things over, Kai wandered off further down the street. She paused and frowned, noticing the broken window of another storefront.

“…Looks like somebody was having a fun time.” She mumbled.

Her brother frowned, joining her and noticing how it looked like some of the items had been rummaged through amidst the broken pieces of glass in the display, “Vandalism, it looks like, and some thieving too.”

And usually, especially in a more populated/secure area in the middle levels like this…that tended to mean one sort of person would do something in that vein since other residents would know better and probably wouldn’t risk it. He looked around briefly, wondering if the perpetrators were still in sight but seeing no one but familiar strangers and acquaintances he’d passed this way before.

The girl looked thoughtful, “Hey, Dex?”

“Yeah?”

“If people living in Above Ground have everything, why do stuff like this at all?”

Grif blinked, not sure of how to respond at first, “…Because they’re assholes?”

“…They can’t all be, though.” It was odd to see Kai so serious, it was almost unnerving in a way.

“Well, probably not.” He agreed, “But the only ones I’ve met down here have been.”

“Yeah, most of the ones I’ve met have been too.” The girl mumbled to herself, preoccupied with her own thoughts.

_Wait…what?_

Something about Kai’s comment caused her older brother to ask her to elaborate, but she quickly chose to change the subject instead whenever he tried bringing it up again and he never got a clear answer from her after that. …Much to his annoyance.

*****

It was only a few days later when Grif finally put two and two together about what Kai had meant earlier.

…Unfortunately for him, the whole episode kind of made him seem like a major asshole afterwards— but, oh well.

“…And here are the cables you were asking for.”

Once the money was on his chip from the last exchange of the day, Grif headed back to Low Town with a tired-albeit-happy skip to his step.

He’d had to go into the mining tunnels again and scavenged the requested items from conduits no longer in service. Fair game to anyone if they could get to them at that point: the sooner the conduits were picked clean, the sooner possible hardware updates could be done or there was no longer any reason to hold back on using abandoned tunnels for storage for more active areas of the mines. He then had to trek them to Level Three by himself too, but that meant extra money in his pocket since he didn’t have to go through any sort of middle man for the items. Besides, since the cables were harder to find, he was able to haggle an even better price for them too.

…Maybe he’d take a break tomorrow then, go somewhere fun with Tucker and Kai.

Or he could just nap the day away too: napping was fucking _awesome_.

He was in such a good mood that he even opted to pay the small fee to ride one of the public transport elevators down to Low Town. If he got home quick enough, maybe he could catch Kai and they could grab a quick bite to eat in celebration.

The crowd of people that had been crammed into the elevator along with him thinned out once it reached its destination, and he made his way to the exit— only having to push his way past a few of the more impatient people who didn’t want to wait the couple of extra seconds to get out of the lowest levels of The Slums while people were disembarking from the elevator still. He muttered a few choice words about them under breath, but they seemed too caught up in their own businesses to care much about an annoyed eighteen-year-old who they probably felt had mildly inconvenienced them already by choosing to leave the elevator at that exact moment.

“D—does it hurt still?” a nervous voice caught his ears, the more shrill quality to it causing it to stand slightly higher in decibel range from the din of voices all around him in the crowd, “Where…where can I get some ice?”

“It’s okay now. It hurt like a bitch when it happened though. …Fucking asshole.”

What had just been slightly louder random background noise a few seconds ago suddenly took on a whole new level of clarity when the second voice Grif heard registered in his mind.

_Kai!_

He swiveled his heard around, trying to figure out where she was exactly.

Off to either side of the transport elevators were benches meant for public use, usually used by people if they were waiting for the elevators to become active in the morning or if they were planning to meet someone entering the lower levels. …Or, occasionally, someone homeless would use them to sleep on until security forced them to relocate.

He saw Kai sitting down on one of them, a grimace plastered on her tan face. Standing in front of her, wringing his hands helplessly, was a tall pale boy around his own age that he had never seen before. The boy was looking thoroughly panicked.

As Grif approached them, he could see just why the boy was so upset: Kai’s left hand was clasped around a bloody piece of tissue just above her right elbow. There was a pretty big cut on her forehead with blood dripping down her face and a pretty nasty-looking bruise on her cheek just under her right eye too.

“…What happened?” he was standing over her in about two seconds flat, concern intermixing with the need to figure out what exactly had transpired in the first place.

Neither Kai nor the boy she was with had been expecting his sudden appearance and the girl nearly jumped from her spot on the bench when he showed up.

“Dex? What the hell? Don’t fucking do that!” she looked almost embarrassed once she realized her surprised reaction and just what she looked like at the moment, “I…I thought you’d be later.” She mumbled.

“I got off early.” He frowned, glad now that he had, “And don’t try to change the subject. What the fuck happened?”

Kai blanched slightly at the serious tone in his voice and looked down at the scraped skin above her elbow. It looked even worse upon closer inspection, as her skin had been rubbed off from right above her elbow to almost her wrist— Grif tried not to look at it too directly at the moment until he got some answers first. Both it and the cut looked bad enough that she’d need antiseptic once they got home, which he knew from past experience she wouldn’t like because it hurt a lot.

“Those Above Grounder dicks were here and giving my friends a hard time, so I told them to fuck off.” She said finally, hurrying through the story before Grif could lecture her for being too confrontational around the wrong types of people again, “One of them got mad and pushed me into a bench. I think I got hurt mostly from hitting that. …And the fall.”

“…And the dragging afterwards too.” The unknown boy muttered after her. Kai’s expression became even darker at that, as though it were a memory she’d rather not think back upon anytime soon and she shuddered.

“Where are your friends now?” Grif had never liked the crowd his sister chose to spend time with. The fact that they weren’t here at all sort of confirmed his suspicions on that end.

“…Gone.” Her defeated tone seemed to indicate she had realized the same thing about them too now.

“And the Above Grounders?” his voice was surprisingly calm, especially since at the moment all Grif was seeing in his vision was red.

“Gone too.” Kai motioned with her head to the lost-looking redhead who had been anxiously listening in on their exchange this whole time, “Except for him.”

And that’s pretty much the moment when Grif lost it.

If he had been thinking clearer he probably would have been able to put the pieces together well before Kai explained to him later on how the boy hadn’t really been friends with the jerks who had hurt her, how it had actually been him who had stopped them from dragging her off who-knows-where when her “friends” had abandoned her, and how he had been trying to help patch up her injuries afterwards.

But at that moment? His little sister was hurt and Grif wasn’t thinking at all, just reacting.

And his fist ended up connecting pretty hard with the boy’s freckled face as a result of that.

…Admittedly, he felt rather bad about it in hindsight, though.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** My first multi-chapter story in a long while (just to prove I could still do one, haha!). _RvB_ is a powerful influence on me for some reason, which I love about it. :)
> 
> At any rate, I have an outline already for the direction I want the story to go in…so it shall be an adventure to see if I actually end up keeping with that or changing things the more I write! I’m already working on the second chapter, so hopefully it will be posted somewhat soon. I’m planning on the first couple of chapters being more introductory/set-up for the AU world of this fic and to introduce the two main characters (Grif and Simmons), along with a few others in the cast…and then I’m going to be doing a timeskip to help move the plot along. At which time, I think more of the characters will be introduced. Many of the characters from Season 1 – Season 11 will have roles in the stories, though a few might just be mentioned instead of actually shown depending on what happens in the plot later…and who knows? Since I’ll be writing this while Season 12 is airing, I might end up throwing in a few characters from that as supporting players if inspiration strikes me!
> 
> Aside from the obvious Grimmons pairing, other pairings later on will include Yorkalina, Chex, Sheila X Lopez, at least past mentions of Insurrection Leader X CT, and possibly Doc X Donut. I might be doing either Washington X Tucker, Tucker X Kimball, or Kimball X Felix as possible pairings too…I just haven’t decided the direction I want to go in that regard yet (won’t be until after the timeskip that two of those characters will even show up, so I have some time to think on it!).
> 
> …And, that’s about it and this will probably be the longest Author’s Note I write for the story. Special thanks as well to my sister who volunteered as beta reader for me! And thank you very much for taking the time to read this chapter, and my goal is to definitely finish this fic…just to prove to myself that I can. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters…they are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Two:

“…I said I’m sorry, okay?” Grif’s voice was warped with exasperation at this point, “What else do you want from me?”

“Yeah, you apologized to me, ass-face!” his sister was scowling up at him, the bruise on her cheek now just a faded purple and yellow splotch instead of the ugly darker coloration it had been earlier-- the cut on her forehead and rubbed raw skin on her arm both now bandaged quite nicely, “Why don’t you apologize to that gray-haired kid you knocked out?”

He sighed, “Look, apologizing for something like that’s kind of a hassle and I have no idea where he went anyways.”

That part was true, at least.  He’d stormed off angrily with Kai in tow to get her properly treated after having decked the kid and by the time he was back to rational thought or what at least amounted to it in his brain, more likely, and actually listened to Kai’s protests-- the Above Grounder was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel guilty enough about the misunderstanding.  Kai’s pointed guilt trips were not making him feel any better.

Sensing that the two were possibly getting into an argument again, Tucker cleared his throat.  They were all hanging out in the Grif siblings’ apartment, in the tiny space that served as a living room/kitchen area.  Grif had opted to take the next few days off given what had happened to Kai: one of the benefits of being his own boss, he supposed.

“It’s sort of funny though, if you think about it.  I mean, who knew you had a berserk button for anything other than food?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He gulped when both siblings stared pointedly at him and he barely had enough time to duck before the magazine that Kai had been reading and the soda can that Grif had just emptied crashed into the wall just above where Tucker’s head had been moments before.

“You both suck!”

*****

If that had been the last time Grif had ever encountered the strange kid from Above Ground, he would have chalked the incident up to a regrettable encounter from his past and just that.  Something to be embarrassed about, but a memory he could easily enough push to the back of his mind as the years slipped by.

As it happened, surprisingly enough, it was the other teenager himself who ensured that their first encounter wasn’t just a chance one.

Kai didn’t seem too bent out of shape at all from her ordeal beyond still guilt-tripping Grif over his actions and deciding to end a few friendships for which Grif was sort of grateful for, if nothing else.  She was soon back to her cheerful, carefree self in no time.

The only real permanent physical mark she would have was a small scar from the forehead cut whenever it healed completely, but all things considered, her injuries could have been a lot worse.

After two days, she got fed up with her big brother’s fussiness and kicked him out of the apartment: threatening to change the lock on him if he didn’t stay away for a little while and give her some space.  Which, naturally, Tucker thought was all sorts of hilarious when he heard about it later.

So, for better or for worse (probably more “for the worse” given his general stance towards work), Grif went back to running errands.

It was well into midmorning after he finished delivering spec estimates from a mechanic in Level One to a potential client who never had their computer terminals on to check for messages that Grif had the oddest sensation that he was being watched.

Frowning, the eighteen-year-old quickly darted his head behind him and to the right, surprised to see a quick flash of red darting into one of the nearby side-alleys.

Grif’s frown deepened, as he could think of only one person he’d encountered recently with red hair.

…Was that Above Grounder really following him?  And why?

The only reason he could really think of was that he was (understandably, justifiably even) pissed at Grif for their earlier interaction and was possibly waiting for an opportunity to confront the other boy about it.

Grif sighed, not really wanting to deal with this at all but knowing that he probably should: the whole thing had been one big misunderstanding and he’d admittedly been a pretty big asshole over it, so he should at the very least take responsibility for what he had done.

…Sometimes being responsible sort of sucked major balls.

Dragging his feet somewhat, he headed reluctantly towards the side-alley he had seen the figure disappear into.

Peering in cautiously (not that he expected a crowbar to the face or anything), he almost thought perhaps it had been his imagination playing tricks on him.  Nothing was there but crates and garbage, until something in a distinctly maroon-looking color moved and shrunk behind a pile of crates in the middle of the alley.

The teenager was pretty good at disappearing, Grif had to give him that-- if he hadn’t moved his shoulder that centimeter just then probably thinking he’d been too exposed or something, Grif would have probably overlooked him entirely.

“Hey, I know you’re there!  Come out already!” he called, stepping completely into the alleyway.

There was a distinctly not very impressive sounding yelp from the hiding spot and after a few more uncomfortable minutes of silence the person emerged from behind the crates, looking decidedly sheepish.

He’d been right: the person following him had been the Above Grounder who had helped Kai out.

…Complete with a yellowing bruise about the size of Grif’s fist on the left side of his face.  Okay, Grif kind of felt like a major asshole again upon seeing that.

He waited for the other boy to say something, but the kid seemed hesitant to even look Grif in the eye let alone ream him out for what he had done.  His face was turning an odd shade of red and green eyes were darting in every direction but directly at Grif-- as if he was trying to calculate if he could make some sort of escape attempt.

Finally, Grif got fed up with waiting and sighed.

“Look, if you’re pissed at me I can understand why…” he folded his arms across his chest, “So if you want to hit me to make it even, go ahead.  I won’t fight back or anything.”

His words seemed to do the trick, because two very wide eyes were suddenly fixed directly on him.

“H-hit you?” the Above Grounder stammered out in surprise, “Why…do you think I’d want to hit you?”

Grif raised a black eyebrow at that, “Uh, because I got mad and wailed on you when you hadn’t done anything?”

“Oh.” It seemed as if that was the first time such a notion had even occurred to the other teen.

“…Why else would you be following me if you weren’t mad about that?”  Now it was Grif’s turn to be confused.

He hadn’t thought it was possible, but the boy’s face became even redder-- almost matching the hues of his hair and shirt.

“Um…” he seemed to be trying to think of something to say in response and failing miserably.

Grif wasn’t quite sure if he should be amused by the turmoil the redhead was going through or feel pity instead.

Before he could say anything, however, the boy finally seemed to think of something to say, “How…how is she?”

Oh, so maybe he’d been following him just to check up on Kai.  That made sense, he supposed.  The only reason he probably hadn’t felt comfortable asking him directly about her was because of what had happened before.

…Now Grif kind of felt like an even bigger dick.

“She’s pretty much recovered now.” He smiled sardonically, “Though she’s pretty pissed at me for punching you like I did.”

The boy seemed relieved at the news, even smiling slightly at Grif’s joke about himself.

“Seriously, though, if you’re mad at me, go ahead and hit me.  One time offer.”

Oddly enough, the suggestion only seemed to annoy the other boy, “What would hitting you do?” he asked, somehow even managing to work up the nerve to glare at him.

“…Make us even?” Now it was Grif’s turn to be perplexed.  What was this kid’s problem?

“For what?  I’m not mad at you.” He seemed somewhat more at ease now that they had been talking for a little while.

“But, I hit you for no reason.” Grif protested.

_And left your ass there and didn’t apologize until just now_ …though he kept quiet on that last part.

“You were upset.” The boy looked at him appraisingly, “That girl…she’s your family, right?”

“Sister.” Grif blinked, surprised at the comment, “How’d you know?”

The boy’s face became incredibly red again, “Your reaction to what happened to her.  And…” his voice became barely audible at the next part, “You both look alike.”

“We do?”

He had heard that a few times, when they were both younger.  But now that they were grown…well, he supposed beyond the similar skin tone, hair, and eye colors as both had the same tan skin, black hair, and brown eyes-- he didn’t really think they looked all that similar.

Kai was definitely a looker, for starters (already getting all sorts of attention for it, much to his chagrin)…whereas, while he thought he was all right looking and not that self-conscious about that kind of thing anyways, he didn’t really think he’d ever win any awards for handsomeness.  Any talk about him and Kai looking that much alike anymore had stopped awhile ago, so he hadn’t really thought their family resemblance was that strong nowadays.

The other boy nodded, but for some reason had clammed up on this topic of conversation.  Not that Grif really cared, though he wondered why saying you thought someone bore a family resemblance to another person would be grounds for getting embarrassed in the first place, but the Above Grounder seemed pretty socially anxious in general.

“She’s only fourteen.” He figured he might as well get the protective older brother shit out of the way to help move the conversation along, “So don’t get any funny ideas or I _will_ hit you again.”

That did the trick.  The boy’s face became a decidedly tomato hue and he shook his head emphatically, “I—I wouldn’t!  I mean…she’s really pr—pretty and all, but…“

“Breathe, dude.” Grif was torn between protective urges at the “pretty” comment (so he had been thinking something then!), amusement at the obvious discomfort the other boy was in, and genuine worry that the teenager might hyperventilate and pass out on him.

…That last outcome would probably be a pretty big pain to deal with.

Apparently though, the almost-smirk that was forming on Grif’s face in terms of the “amusement” factor was visible enough that, to his credit, the other teenager actually _glared_ at him and was able to finally plow through his embarrassment.

Grif was sort of impressed, in a way.

“W—what I meant before was that I understood why you lost it earlier.  So I wasn’t mad then.” The last remark came with a decidedly pointed look in Grif’s direction, which only furthered his amusement, “Besides, given who it was that hurt her…”

The boy’s voice had trailed off, and he looked down at the ground guiltily.  Which, admittedly, sort of made Grif feel bad again about the whole thing.

“…Were they your friends?” he asked quickly, not really liking the uncomfortable silence that had descended upon them again.

A very emphatic headshake to further illustrate his point, “They’re assholes.  They just followed me down here.”

That comment caused Grif to do a quick double-take, “You mean you’d come down here by yourself?”

He was actually more than a little impressed by that.  From what he could gather, it was something of a challenge to sneak past the security points into The Slums-- which is usually why Above Grounders who did it tended to be in groups.

The boy in the maroon shirt seemed to misinterpret Grif’s reaction as disbelief.  He blushed again, halfway looking irritated and expectant of such a reaction, “I’m…good at hacking.” He muttered.

“Oh.  So you’re a nerd then.”

That kind of made a whole of sense to Grif, honestly.

The other teen’s shoulders slumped at Grif’s actually-not-really-intending-to-sound-as-insulting-as-it-came-across remark as if he were a deflated balloon.  He sighed.

“…That’s sort of cool, actually.”

His head jerked up suddenly at Grif’s remark and he looked at him with his mouth hanging open in surprise.  It almost seemed as if he were so unused to hearing praise that he didn’t know how to even react to it.  Grif really didn’t want to dwell on how that was pretty sad, if one thought about it too much.

So he plowed on, hoping that maybe if he talked more the desperate look on the other boy’s face would go away, “I mean…I can barely use some of the crappy tech we have here, so I don’t think I’d ever be able to bypass the security sealing Above Ground out.” He grinned in self-deprecating humor, “It probably would be entertaining as fuck for someone to see me try though.”

The boy still resembled one of those Earth animals called a “deer” caught in the headlights he’d seen on old video reels, but once Grif’s words sunk in and he realized he wasn’t being made fun of he smiled slightly.  His smile wasn’t bad, when he wasn’t too self-conscious or unsure about it.

“So if those assholes weren’t your friends and you were trying to help my sister out you don’t have anything to feel guilty about.  And I’m still a dick for taking it out on you.”

“Um…” he didn’t seem quite sure of how to respond to that logic.

“So, since you refuse to punch me back and Kai’s still pissed at me, why don’t you let me make it up to you?” Grif sighed, trying to make amends was far too much work-- he was starving now with all of the effort it was taking.

“…H—how?” the boy looked at him in confusion.

Before Grif could respond, however, a loud gurgle filled the space between them.  The redhead’s face went red again, his green eyes looking down in horrified embarrassment at his growling stomach.

Grif grinned, thankful that the sudden solution to his moral dilemma had such good timing for him as well.

*****

“That was…kind of disgusting.”

Grif belched loudly, not phased at all by the weird grimace on the pale boy’s face as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then wiped that absentmindedly on his pant leg.  …Kai had told him before that was gross, but who was he ever trying to impress anyways?

“What was?  The food?” he tried thinking back on what they’d just eaten: some kind of chicken and rice dish.  A bit healthier than he normally cared for, but he’d been starving and really hadn’t wanted go waste effort looking for another place when that one had been _right there_.  He frowned, “I didn’t think it was that bad.  …For healthy shit.”

Maybe Above Grounders had a shitload more sophistication when it came to their palettes?  If that was the case, he was going to mock the kid now that he considered them even.

“No, the food was good.” The redhead was looking pointedly at him, “What was disgusting was watching you inhale five plates of it!”

“…I was hungry.” He shrugged.

“You nearly swallowed the silverware!” he shuddered at the memory, “I’m surprised you didn’t unhinge your jaw just to get more food in.”

“You mean like a snake?” Grif honestly wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or not at the comparison.

…Truthfully though, having a jaw that unhinged probably would help him cut down on all those wasted seconds he spent having to chew things like a chump.

He tensed visibly at Grif’s snake comparison, “Fuck!  I wish you hadn’t mentioned snakes.”

Grif smirked, “A snake-phobe, are we?”

Sure, Grif was terrified of flying rodents himself so he knew he shouldn’t make fun of that, but the guy had just implied his eating habits were disgusting.  Even if that was true (and he sort of suspected it _was_ , he just didn’t really care enough to change them)-- it left him open for ribbing in return.

“The term is _Ophidiophobic_ , actually.” The poor boy couldn’t help but to dig himself in further.

“Nerd.” He couldn’t help but respond to it, either.

A glare, “Fatass.”

Instead of feeling angry at the insult, Grif felt oddly okay with it.  Maybe it was fun just to see if he could spark that kind of vehement reaction from the other teen.  Maybe it was just nice to know there _was_ more to him than being timid and awkward all the time.

…Whatever the reason, he actually _liked_ seeing this side of the Above Grounder.  The longer he could keep it out, the better: it was like a routine that felt oddly natural for two people who had only just met (and decidedly on the wrong foot, to boot).

Despite the annoyed look on his face, it seemed like the other boy didn’t really mind either: there was a glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and he wasn’t going back into his shell or being overly self-conscious yet since the exchange had started.

Out of mild curiosity, and to keep things on a more peaceable level still, Grif asked, “What do you call a fear of bats?”

The annoyed look faded quickly from his expression as he thought of the answer, “ _Chiroptophobia_.” He regarded him curiously, “Why?”

A shrug, “No reason.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

The boy regarded him for a few more minutes, and then a smirk crossed his face.  It was a new expression to see on him for Grif.  It would probably take awhile to get used to.

“Are you afraid of bats?” he joked.

“…” Grif said nothing, really not sure he wanted to give the kid any fuel given the suddenly way-too-joyful look in his green eyes.  Dealing with Tucker’s mocking on the subject was more than enough.

Unfortunately, and he really should have realized it sooner, staying silent was pretty much its own confirmation too.

“You do know there weren’t any bats on the colony ships and that there are no bat-like species on this planet, right?”

“Oh, sure, try to disprove my fear with facts.” Grif used air-quotes with his fingers to emphasize the word “facts,” not really caring for the smug look crossing over the boy’s features.

Suddenly, he thought of something to counter said smugness and couldn’t help the triumphant smirk that came to his own face, “And you do know that if there _are_ snakes on this planet, you’d be more likely to find them here, right?”

His face paled considerably at the notion and Grif almost could have laughed at the fearful reaction until he suddenly shook his head adamantly, “That’s—that’s not true!  They don’t live that far underground!”

“You sure about that?” Grif tried to get one last jab in, even though he knew the boy was probably right: he certainly had never seen a snake anywhere close to The Slums or the mines.

“…Are you sure you won’t find a bat down here one day?” he countered.

Damn, he had him there.  Grif was somewhat impressed.

Finally, his mind settled on a topic of discussion he knew the other teen couldn’t argue, “…Nerd.”

_Oh, good one!_

He hated his brain sometimes.

“…Fatass.”

Though judging by the embarrassed grimace crossing over the other teen’s features at his less-than-eloquent retort, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one who felt that way sometimes.

…Oddly enough, that sort of made Grif feel better.

“Come on,” he grinned and grabbed the boy’s hand, “There’s someone you should meet again!”

If he’d been paying attention to the other boy’s body language at all, he would have noticed him stiffening slightly at the sudden contact.  Or maybe that his palm actually seemed to be sweating quite a bit against his own.

…But Grif was, when it came to certain things at least, pretty oblivious sometimes.

*****

“…”

Kai stared blankly at the two of them from the apartment doorway, surprise evident on her features.

Tucker whistled in amusement as he’d evidently snuck over to their home in order to read a magazine, “Dude, you bring home the weirdest shit.”

“Oh, shut up.” Grif glared in his direction, then pushed the boy forward encouragingly, “Look who’s here, Kai!”

She tilted her head to the side contemplatively, squinting at the teen who was fidgeting embarrassingly in front of her-- his face a bright red and his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

It took only a moment for her to remember him, “Hey, it’s the gray guy who helped me out!”

He stared at her dumbfounded for a few seconds before turning to look behind him questioningly at Grif, “Um…?”

“She’s colorblind.” Grif explained in a whisper.  Given his red hair and maroon shirt…no wonder Kai called him “gray guy” in her head.

“That…can’t be true, can it?” he could practically see the wheels turning in the nerd’s head at the concept, “Statistically speaking, I mean—“

Trying to avoid some weird scientific nerd lecture before it could properly begin, Grif stepped forward and cut the boy off, “I ran into him earlier and we’re cool now, Kai.  So you can lay off the guilt trip, all right?”

The girl glanced from him to the Above Grounder, frowning.

“Is this true?” she asked the redhead, who squirmed uncomfortably with her attention on him again.

Grif’s mouth fell open, “…You don’t believe me?” he asked in mock disbelief.

“I just want to hear it from him.” Kai looked at the boy imploringly.

“Because you might have just threatened the poor guy into coming down here just to get her to stop being mad at you!” Tucker joked, looking on at the exchange in amusement.

“…Are you kidding me?  That would have taken way too much effort.”

The boy still seemed way too shaken up under Kai’s gaze, though it seemed like the few minutes dialogue between Grif and Tucker helped to give him a chance to get his bearings.

“Um…yeah, it’s true.” He swallowed nervously, looking down at the floor, “He apologized and everything.”

“Dex apologized?” Now it was Kai’s turn to look shocked.

“Dex?” the boy was staring at him curiously.

…Though Grif was more focused on his annoyance over the shocked looks on both Tucker and Kai’s faces, “Oh, shut the fuck up, you two.  I can apologize for shit I’ve done wrong!”

“’Can’ and actually ‘doing’ are two very opposite things.” His friend joked.

“…Don’t you have your own home to hang out in?” Grif asked exasperatedly.

He grinned, looking pointedly in Kai’s direction, “View’s way better in this one.”

“I swear to God, Tucker…”

“It’s—it’s true though!” Perhaps the Above Grounder was afraid that the argument might get even more heated, though it came as a bit of a surprise to hear his voice speak loudly enough to be heard over it, “He even tried getting me to punch him to make it even!”

Tucker snorted, “That’s how you apologize for shit?  Wish we got into more fights.”

Sister nodded approvingly, “That sounds like my brother!”

…Grif was seriously tempted to bang his head on the wall behind him.  Except it was metal and would probably hurt _a lot_.

Instead, he sighed in defeat and decided to let their joking comments slide, “…So we’re cool then, Kai?  You’re not going to keep yelling at me?”

She made a big deal about pretending to think it over to which Grif had to try to keep an eyebrow twitch from developing in response to, before slowly nodding, “…Buy me that yellow tank top I saw earlier and we’ll call it even.”

“Oh, seconded!” Tucker grinned, “Bow chika bow—OW!”

At the same time that he had hit Tucker in the head with a soda can Grif said, “Nice try.” to his sister.

“You suck!” But there was no vehemence in her tone and Kai was grinning right back at him.

“Seriously, don’t you people ever throw anything away?” Tucker was rubbing the side of his head where the can had hit him.

The two ignored him though, Kai turning her attention back to the very lost and bewildered boy standing next to her brother, “I never did get the chance to thank you earlier, did I, gray guy?”

“Um…”

“So thanks!” she grinned, grabbing his hand and the poor guy looked likely to faint right then and there-- Grif wasn’t sure if he should throw a can at him as well for that or mock him for it…maybe both.

Oblivious to his reaction, Kai leaned forward playfully and looked at his red face carefully, “Come to think of it, I never got your name.” she mused.

…Oh, that actually reminded Grif of something too.  For some reason, it had totally slipped his mind to ask for the Above Grounder’s name as well.

With visible effort, the boy managed to choke out, “Si—Simmons.” before turning around and hightailing it out of the apartment.

The two boys stared after him incredulously and Kai smiled, “Aw…gray guy’s shy!”

…Well, Grif supposed it was probably something of a miracle that he had even hung on as long as he had.

*****

When dinner was finished with that evening, Tucker motioned for Grif to follow him into the hallway.

He did so, figuring that Tucker had a bad joke or something else fun he wanted to tell him but he was surprised at the decidedly serious look on the dark-skinned boy’s face.

“You…haven’t heard anything about fighting between those Insurrection guys and Above Ground, have you?”

Grif was taken slightly back by the question.

The Insurrection was something of a resistance group in The Slums.  There were a network of resistances in the area, actually, though most of them were for more peaceful organizations of resources and just about providing security to more impoverished areas since Above Ground didn’t supply any sort of aid down here.  They often helped out in the events of tunnel collapses and the like too.  Originally, the Insurrection had been like any other of those groups, but he’d heard some rumors of them advertising some decidedly riskier actions against Above Ground in recent months.

…He had assumed the rumors were blowing things out of proportion because of the “tough guy” personas all of the group’s members seemed to have.  Everyone always grumbled about taking action for better treatment for The Slums, but no one was stupid enough to actually try anything.

…Not after the Above Ground military had proven they were more than willing to use detonation charges to collapse tunnels on miners in the last uprising some twenty years ago, at least.

“The usual shit, nothing different.”

Tucker’s frown deepened at his response and Grif actually became a little worried, “…Have you heard something?”

“Just some stuff I really hope isn’t true about weapons being shipped out into the tunnels.” His friend’s brown eyes looked at him pointedly, “I know you have a job and everything, but try to keep out of the mines for awhile, okay?  I don’t want to have to deal with Kai if something happens to your lazy ass.”

Grif was genuinely touched at his friend’s concern, “Thanks for the warning.  I’ll stick to easy jobs outside of the mining corridors for a little while then.” He grinned sarcastically, “Believe me, the last thing I’d want to do is get involved in something as pointless as a war.”

He snorted, “Yeah, I’m not sure you’d last more than two seconds in one.”

“…Like you’d do any better?” Grif joked back.

“Probably not.  Way too much effort, man.”

It was times like these when Grif was reminded of what made the two of them rather good friends despite all of the ribbing.

“Oh, and I’d probably have Kai not talk about that pale kid being from Above Ground too much.” Tucker advised, turning slightly serious again, “You know how people can get.”

True enough: a lot of Slum residents saw Above Grounders as enemies.  It was hard to think of anyone really seeing a scrawny, pale, freckle-faced, socially awkward boy as a threat, but he supposed it wouldn’t do to bring attention to it.

“Do you really think it will be an issue?” he asked Tucker, “I mean, he ran out of here practically screaming.  I’m not sure we’ll even see him again.”

Which, oddly enough, was almost halfway disappointing.  He’d actually kind of had fun earlier today.

Tucker shrugged, “You never know.  Best to be cautious, though.”

…It was sound advice, even if it did come from a surprising source.

*****

Simmons didn’t show up again for another two days.

Truthfully, Grif was actually somewhat surprised when he found him sitting by himself at the very same bench he had tried helping Kai at earlier.

“…I thought you’d left.” He thought it best to avoid mentioning that he had fled from his little sister in close to sheer panic.

…At least for right now.  He would so mock him for it later if the other teen stuck around.

Simmons started at his voice, red already climbing up his face, “I…don’t interact well with girls.” He mumbled lamely.

Grif plopped down next to him on the bench.  He was tired and this was as good an excuse as any to get off of his feet for awhile.

“I noticed.” He grinned, “Lots of girls go for guys fleeing in terror from them.”

…Okay, well, he wasn’t going to miss a mocking opportunity when it was _that_ obvious.  He was only human, after all.

Simmons flinched away from him slightly and he almost felt bad for the joking then.

“…Was she mad?”

“Kai?” Grif shook his head, “Nah, she just thinks you’re shy.”

He let out a small sigh of relief, shoulders sagging slightly.

“…Fourteen, dude.  And my sister.”

Best to nip any thoughts like that in the bud.

Simmons glanced over at him, nodding in understanding of Grif’s warning.  His face was no fire-hydrant red.

Grif sighed, “I would have thought you would have gone back by now.  It’s been a couple weeks, hasn’t it?  Those assholes who hurt Kai have already left, haven’t they?”

The other boy nodded and Grif was somewhat relieved they weren’t causing trouble around here anymore.

But it made him kind of curious about why Simmons wasn’t hurrying back to the safety of topside living.  He seemed nervous enough being down here as it was, so Grif just wanted to know _why_.

“…So why are you staying here?”

Having nowhere to sleep, to eat really…  It seemed an odd thing for anyone to choose to do voluntarily.  He knew from personal experience that he certainly never wanted to do it again.

The other boy fidgeted nervously, biting down on his lip.  He remained silent for so long that Grif assumed he wasn’t going to answer…which, fair enough.  It wasn’t like the two of them were friends or anything, so he wasn’t going to force it out of him.

“Look, sorry I asked.” He said after the silence had stretched on well past his liking, “You don’t have to tell me, I won’t get mad.”

“…I have two more weeks.”

Simmons had mumbled, so Grif wasn’t quite sure what he had said at first.

The redhead glanced at him, saw the questioning look on Grif’s tan face and took a deep breath.  When he spoke up again, it was at a much more audible level.

“I have two more weeks before my enrollment begins.”

Ah, so that explained things a little bit.  Simmons was trying to have his last little bit of freedom before his mandatory Above Ground military training commenced.

…Grif sort of felt sorry for him.

“You’ve already been down here awhile and without anyone else.  Won’t your family miss you?”

Simmons frowned at the question and for a minute the other teen thought that maybe he had overstepped some new acquaintance rule or some shit again.

“My mom…might.” He finally said, “But I left her a message and I think she understands.  My dad…he won’t even notice I’m gone unless I don’t show up for training.”

There was a note of bitterness to Simmons’ voice on that last part that caught Grif off-guard.

“You two don’t get along?”

…And he probably should just shoot himself in the foot to keep from digging himself in even further.

Simmons laughed, a weird patronizing laugh that was more hollow than anything else, “He’d have to notice I existed before we could not get along.”

Father issues by the transport-load, it seemed.  Grif wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to pry any further on that subject given the dark look crossing over Simmons’ green eyes.

“So you’re just going to slum around here for the next two weeks?”

Simmons’ head snapped quickly in Grif’s direction, his mouth open in protest.

Grif had forgotten that the term “slumming” for Above Grounders had a negative connotation, usually meaning stuff like what those assholes had done to Kai.  Simmons apparently was well aware of it too.

“Sorry, didn’t mean it that way.” Grif held out his hand in a peaceable gesture, “I just meant that you’re going to wander down here on your own until then.”

He relaxed then, giving a curt nod.

Grif sighed, not really liking the direction his brain was going in.

But a kid without much social skills to speak of and nowhere to sleep, an Above Grounder no less in a place where they weren’t really welcome, and Tucker’s warning to boot…

And he knew that, even if they were somewhat even now for his punching him earlier, Simmons had risked getting his own ass kicked by helping Kai out like he had.

They weren’t even for that yet, not by a long shot.

“I have a proposition for you.”

*****

The arrangement was pretty simple, and if Grif was being honest with himself, it was a mutually beneficial one.

For the next two weeks, Simmons would help Grif out on his errands around The Slums-- in exchange for food and a place to sleep.

…This in turn meant Grif actually could get a lot of his work done faster, which meant he could devote a lot more of his time to slacking off.  Plus, he didn’t have to worry about Simmons getting dragged off by Insurrection thugs for doing something stupid and “Above Ground”-y (yeah, he really didn’t care if that wasn’t a real term)…which meant he could consider a lot of his debt to him in regards to Kai paid off as well.

So, all in all: a total win-win.

It wasn’t exactly a foolproof plan, though: Simmons may have been something of an overachieving genius nerd hacker in order to sneak into The Slums on his own, but he had pretty much zilch in the way of the common sense know-how needed to actually work and function down here.  It made Grif wonder how he’d managed to keep himself alive those first days.

But, if there was one thing about the above description that was especially in the redhead’s favor, it was the “overachieving” part.  The boy seemed bent to please and he was persistent.  Maybe, since he knew Grif was doing him a pretty big favor in his own way, he wanted to prove he could actually do it.

After fumbling through the first few transactions of the day, he was steadily improving at a much quicker pace than Grif had anticipated.

…It was almost wearing him out, just watching Simmons.

“Do you ever relax?” he asked him as they were finishing up the last job of the day: delivering food to the construction workers in Level One from a restaurant in Level Five.  Good pay since it was a lot of food, though having a second person made the haul easier and as a bonus-- free food to boot afterwards.  He fucking loved delivery runs for restaurants when he could arrange to get them.

Simmons looked over at him in surprise, “But…it’s your job, right?”

Grif shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“A job you’re given is one you ought to do well.”

Now it was Grif’s turn to look at him as if he were an alien, “Where did you pick that up from?”

His face lit up in indignation, “It’s called having a good work ethic!”

Well, it’s not like Grif could really argue with that.  When push came to shove (and there was no plausible way he could come up with to avoid it), he would work insanely hard.  It wasn’t like Grif hadn’t been doing so up until now.

“But this is different for you.” He argued, “It’s my job, but you’re just…an assistant helper.”

“…And I shouldn’t try to be good at that?” The incredulous look on his freckled face was too hilarious.

“Well, you can if you want.” Grif scratched his head in thought, “I just thought if you were coming down here to get away from pressure in your everyday life you might want to relax and have fun while you have the time for it.”

Simmons seemed to ponder what he said for a few seconds and then sort of freaked Grif out by beaming proudly, “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.  I’m having tons of fun!”

The blank look on the other teen’s face caused him to elaborate further, “I mean…I find a job well done to be very fun!  It’s like a well-organized chore wheel!”

“…” Grif just stared at him.

Simmons’ face took on the usual tomato hue Grif had become accustomed to seeing on it whenever he was embarrassed, “G—Grif?” he asked hesitantly.

“…You really are weird, you know that?”

Embarrassment turned to indignation at the joking tone, “I am not!  What’s weird is not having any kind of set schedule or order when your primary business is always changing.”

“Psh…I get it done, don’t I?”

“That’s beside the point!  Your functionality could probably increase by sixty percent at least if you…”

Simmons’ voice trailed off into a well-intentioned rant full of big words that Grif, for the most part, chose to ignore and then reply sarcastically to.

They carried on like that for the rest of the way back to Low Town.  Oddly enough, despite the argumentative and disinterested tones of their voices, both boys were grinning from ear-to-ear throughout the exchange.

*****

“So shy guy is going to be staying with us for two weeks?” Kai asked from the small table they’d just eaten at.

Simmons, having volunteered to clean the dishes (though he subsequently regretted it apparently after seeing the messing filling their sink), sighed, “…I kind of wish she’d go back to calling me ‘gray guy’ instead.” He muttered in a tone so low that Grif only heard it because he was sitting right behind him.

He couldn’t help but grin.  Yeah, he supposed it was embarrassing to be reminded of the time someone ran away in terror from a fourteen-year-old.

“Yeah, just until he has to go back home.” He narrowed his brown eyes at the girl, “So no funny business, Kai.  I mean it.”

“Aw, you’re no fun!” the girl smirked and called over to Simmons’ back, “Hey, wanna sleep in my room?”

…And Grif was pretty sure he heard a plate break as Simmons sputtered incoherently for two whole minutes.

There were only two rooms in the apartment if you didn’t count the bathroom, which sometimes Grif didn’t since as long as he didn’t smell that bad and he didn’t have to take a leak, he kind of forgot it was there.  There was the living space area which also housed their cramped-as-fuck kitchen space, and a tiny bedroom off to the side.

Grif had basically let Kai have free reign of the bedroom since he figured she would appreciate the privacy…and, truthfully, if he was tired he just crashed on the couch anyways so what did he need the extra room for?  Going two unnecessary meters or so to sleep?  Fuck that.

He sighed, honestly not sure if she was joking or serious, “Not happening, Kai.  He’s sleeping out here with me.”

She pouted, “You suck!”

“Yeah, yeah.  Like you actually thought I’d let that happen.”

Kai gave a suggestive wink in the still shell-shocked Simmons’ direction, “Too bad, I would’ve been _real_ gentle.”

“Wh—what?”

Poor kid’s head looked like it was about to explode.  Grif felt a small measure of pity for him: Kai was a handful even for someone used to her.  A shy nerd like Simmons was way out of his depth.

“Quit that and go to bed.” He sighed, the comment more of a suggestion for Simmons’ sake than a real command with any kind of force to it.  He wasn’t really going to yell at her if she ignored him since he suspected a lot of this was more play than anything else.

Kai grinned and stuck her tongue at him again, then raced to her own little sanctuary.  The second the door whizzed shut, loud music only slightly muffled could be heard coming from behind it.

“Um…” Simmons seemed unsure of what to say.

“Sorry about that.  Kai likes to joke around a lot.”

Well, Grif liked to think she was just joking for his own peace of mind.  Sometimes with her it was hard to tell.

“Oh!  Uh, that’s fine.” Simmons’ face was still beet-red though and Grif was unsure of whether or not he should feel more annoyed by his reaction.  He supposed at least “getting too flustered to talk” was a better reaction to Kai’s antics than Tucker’s tendency to “play-flirt back” was, so he decided to let it slide and moved into his own sleeping area.

The couch faced the less-than-stellar computer terminal of the apartment, which was large enough that its screen made up about half of the back wall.  The information networks weren’t the greatest in The Slums, but Grif mostly used it to watch old archival footage of things called “movies” or “TV” from the old days on Earth when he was feeling really bored and lazy, so he didn’t mind ( _Man, did those guys seem to have it made then!_ ).  It was a big, ugly thing that had taken him and Tucker almost an entire day to drag into the apartment from the dump on the other side of Low Town, but once they’d gotten the smell out and everything it was comfy as fuck to sleep on so he thought all-in-all the effort had been worth it.

Underneath the couch were some cleaner blankets, which he pulled out before moving the empty bags of snacks and drink bottles from his sleeping spot to the floor and pulling the blankets that he’d been using from there as well.  Maybe Tucker had a point and they should clean every once in a while, but it wasn’t his fault he got sleepy after he ate, damn it!

“You can have the couch while you’re here.”

…Grif figured Simmons would have probably wanted that spot but wouldn’t feel right asking for it since he was a guest, so he might as well just preemptively offer it instead.

Besides, Grif really didn’t mind sleeping on the floor: he did it a couple of times a week anyways if he really wasn’t feeling like wasting the energy to get up from the ground and pull himself onto the couch.

…He was pretty adept at being able to sleep anywhere, honestly.  It was one of the few skills he prided himself on.

“Thanks.”

Giving up on the mess of dirty plates and utensils piled up in the kitchen for now (though Grif noticed, somewhat surprised, that the boy had managed to make a sizable dent in them somehow), Simmons went about trying to “make” a bed on the couch-- casting disapproving glances at the trash on the floor but, with great effort, not commenting on it.

Silently, the two settled in for the night.  Grif was, not unsurprisingly for him, pretty beat so he figured that he’d have no trouble falling to sleep, even with the sound of Kai’s music permeating the place.

Simmons, it seemed, wasn’t quite as ready to hit the hay yet.  His eyes were flicking in every direction, and he kept opening his mouth to say something but then seemed to decide against it.

Eventually, though, his curiosity seemed to get the better of him.

“Hey, Grif?”

The other boy sighed, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling.

“Simmons, you don’t need to whisper.  It’s hard to hear you over that music Kai’s playing.”

“R—right, sorry.” His voice was slightly louder that time, so Grif didn’t have to strain his ears to hear him.

After a few minutes of deliberation, Simmons spoke up again.

“…Are the two of you living by yourselves?”

It was a pretty personal question and, judging by the hesitancy in his voice, it seemed like Simmons had been debating about whether or not he had wanted to ask: probably afraid he would step over some boundary, just like Grif had been when he’d asked about Simmons’ family.

…But, it wasn’t like it was a huge secret or anything: pretty much everyone who had a passing acquaintance with the two siblings in The Slums knew they were on their own.  Grif really didn’t care who knew one way or the other, so long as they weren’t judgmental assholes about it.

“Yeah.” Grif didn’t hesitate to answer, brown eyes still focused on the ceiling and occasionally on Simmons’ pale elbow when he fidgeted on the couch above him, “It’s been the two of us for awhile now.”

“Oh.” was all Simmons said to that, though if there was one thing Grif had learned about the other teenager was that he probably had a few backup questions he just wasn’t comfortable asking just yet.

So Grif decided to elaborate a bit more to help give the Above Grounder some peace of mind, “My parents both left some years ago.  More important things to do or some shit, I guess.”

“That’s…” Simmons seemed to be racking his brain for the right word, “Awful.  I’m sorry.”

Maybe he thought he’d touched upon a bad topic, like how Grif had when he’d asked about his father.

The other boy shrugged, though he knew Simmons couldn’t see the gesture, “It’s okay.  I mean, it fucking sucked when it happened, but I’m cool with it now.”

…Probably better the two of them had left if that was their disposition in the first place.  Grif wasn’t sure when he had first started telling himself that or when it was that he’d partially started to believe it at least.

There was silence for a long while after that and he began to wonder if maybe the tall boy’s curiosity had been sated.

“…So you aren’t angry anymore?”

…Should have guessed it wouldn’t be.

Grif thought about that for awhile.  Yeah, he supposed he was still pretty mad.  Who wouldn’t be?  But a lot of that was far removed from his life now.  It was a waste of effort to stay mad at people who had abandoned them long ago and Grif was not someone who liked to waste energy or effort on, well, most things if he was honest.

“Not like I used to be.” He finally responded, frowning, “Though I would like to fucking punch both of them for all of the times Kai cried after they left.”

To his surprise, Simmons actually _chuckled_ at that.

“So you’ve been watching out for her all on your own this whole time?”

He yawned, “Someone had to.  She was way too young to deal with that shit.”

“…Sounds like you were too, though.” Simmons’ voice was nearly a whisper then, his tone speculative.

Grif frowned, knowing the truth in that statement and not really being able to counter it.  In reality, he really shouldn’t have had to deal with a lot of the things he’d gone through after they were abandoned.  No kid should.

“Better me than her though, since she was younger.” He finally said, “Besides, it’s gotten better now so it might have been for the best.”

“You’re a strong person, you know that?”

He smirked, “Says the guy who hacked his way down here all on his own.”

Simmons peered down at him, frowning, “I’m serious.  I don’t think…I don’t think I probably could have raised someone all on my own.”

He yawned, “Sure you could.  So long as they were a boy and you could talk to them.”

The couch cushion hit the floor next to his head and he grinned, “Need to work on your aim, dude.”

“Oh, shut up.” He was grinning back.

The serious moment was over and done with and Grif was somewhat glad.  Maybe now he could _finally_ get some sleep.

“Hey, Grif?” Simmons’ voice came to his ears again, “While it really is impressive that you’ve done what you’ve done on your own and everything, there’s probably a few things you could do to help things around here run more efficiently…”

Grif cut him off before he could finish, not even bothering to open his eyes, “Simmons, if the next words out of your mouth are someone along the lines of ‘chore’ or ‘wheel’…I will throw that cushion right back at you.”

The silence following that was pretty damning and Grif contemplated doing it anyways, but he really didn’t want to waste the effort.

Eh, maybe there would be some way to make fun of him tomorrow for it.  He grinned at the thought, finally drifting off to sleep.

*****

Simmons, as it turned out, fit surprisingly comfortably into the routine in the Grif household once he stopped fretting over the chaotic mess of it all.  Well, he still did fret over it, he just internalized it a lot more: it was starting to not surprise Grif that there were spots where he could actually see the floor or counter when he woke up in the apartment.

The two had fallen into a routine of sorts: they bickered a lot, but one the whole it was an amicable sort of bickering and it was odd how well-balanced they were when it came to getting things done.

Work was definitely getting finished a lot sooner, which meant more free time for Grif so he really couldn’t complain at all.

Maybe he should take advantage of the opportunity this afforded him and head to his favorite napping spot of all time overlooking Level One.  He hadn’t been there in _forever_ , so it was certainly tempting.

…Plus, it might be a spot Simmons would like to see before he had to leave.  Or he could be deathly afraid of heights and be completely traumatized-- which Grif could then mock him for.

So, all in all, that was a win-win in his book too.

He was about to suggest the idea to the red-haired boy when Simmons came back from their final job for the day, frowning as he handed Grif his credit chip.  He seemed to be debating whether or not he wanted to tell Grif something.

“Grif, have you heard about the Insurrection Movement?” he beat the tan boy to the punch when Grif was about to ask him what was wrong.

The question threw Grif off-guard, having managed to avoid hearing anything more about them since his last conversation with Tucker.

“…They’re one of the more militant resistance groups in The Slums, but everyone knows that about them.” He frowned, looking the pale boy over quickly, “Why?”

The other teen was trying to school his expression into a stoic one, but failing miserably.  There was a nervous glint in his green eyes.

“It’s nothing.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at the building he had just emerged from, “Maybe…you shouldn’t do business there for awhile.”

The suggestion made no sense to Grif, who looked over at the store in question.  It was a supply store, mostly dealing with parts for transports and mining supplies.  They’d had Grif bring them machine components from some of the dumps in the lower levels to refurbish and resell for months now.

But there was definitely something strange about how Simmons was acting and the fact that he’d brought up a very specific group that Grif hadn’t even known the Above Grounder had been aware of beforehand…

“Are you saying they might somehow be involved with those assholes?”

The even more worried look in the other boy’s eyes pretty much confirmed it, “Don’t say that too loudly!” he muttered in a low hiss of a warning.

Grif’s mind was whirring now: how had Simmons noticed something like that in the first place?  He’d been doing business with them for a while now and he’d never noticed…

Just then, the door slid open to the shop and two people stepped out.

“Thanks for the business.”

One of them was a blond woman with a bored expression plastered on her face and sharp-looking eyes.  She’d been the one who had called out over her shoulder to the shop owner.  The other was a man with his face concealed by a helmet, though the two metallic cybernetic arms he sported more than made him stand out in a crowd.

They walked past the two teens silently, the woman casting a smirk in their direction upon seeing the dumbfounded look on Grif’s face and the nervous one on Simmons’.

“Thank you both as well.” She said in an almost joking manner, mock-waving as her and her companion disappeared from sight down into an alleyway.

…Both of them had been wearing the red combat vests that signified they were members of the Insurrection.  He’d only seen them from afar before, but the sight had always been more than enough motivation to change routes even before their rumored activities had started to intensify.

Picking a fight with Above Ground was stupid, trying to start a war with them downright suicidal and would probably just make things worse for everyone in the long run.  There was no way Grif was going to get dragged into their bullshit.

There was an odd pressure on his forearm, and he looked down-- surprised to see Simmons’ hand was gripped around it tightly.  He looked insanely anxious, not that Grif could probably blame him for it.

“…They were in the store when you dropped the stuff off.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of the obvious.

No wonder Simmons had been so freaked coming out of there.

Damn, if he hadn’t been dragging his ass like usual he would have at least been in there too.  Not that it would have made a fucking difference, but he felt somewhat guilty that the other boy had been there on his own trying to help him out.

“They didn’t seem to…know?” he asked instead, trying to change the subject slightly to avoid annoying and pointless feelings of guilt, “About you?”

Tucker’s warning about keeping where Simmons came from a secret made a whole shitload of sense now.

Simmons seemed to become more and more collected as the moments passed and the two Insurrection members remained out of sight.  He raised a red eyebrow at the question.

“…I don’t think so.  One teenager here probably looks the same as any other.  It’s not like I’m wearing a sign or something.”

He must be feeling more at ease if he was trying to be sarcastic back.  Grif relaxed somewhat at the thought and realized Simmons was probably right: one could potentially look at Simmons and automatically typecast him as a “nerd” or “shy” based on his mannerisms, but it would be trickier to figure out he was from Above Ground at just a glance.

But just as that troubling thought left his head, another quickly took its place.  The Insurrection soldiers being here in the first place, Simmons’ advice to not do business there for awhile, the blonde’s comments…

“They’re getting supplies from here, aren’t they?” his voice barely registered in his own ears, it sounded so flat.

He didn’t need the slight, reluctant nod from Simmons to confirm it.  He already knew that was what was happening even as he had said it.

Damn, how long had they been going to that shop then?  All this time and he’d never known until now?

And a nagging question was tickling his brain too along with those thoughts.

…Had the machinery and gears he’d been getting for the store been given to the Insurrection too then?  It seemed very likely they would be, all things considered.

Which meant he’d been indirectly supplying parts for their stupid war even as he tried to avoid the whole fucking thing.  Which meant if something happened to everyone here because of their actions, he’d share some of the blame too…

Grif wasn’t thinking when he took a step towards the shop.  All he really wanted to do was confront the owner and rage at him for getting him involved in this bullshit in the first place.

“Grif, don’t!”

Simmons’ voice was high-pitched with anxiety still, but there was a surprising authoritative tone that caused The Slums-dweller to stop.

He hadn’t even noticed that Simmons’ hand was still clenched around his forearm, or that the pale fingers had started squeezing down once he began to move in the shop’s direction.

“…Don’t make the situation worse.” The other boy was saying, “Especially not when people like that are involved.”

“But…”

His protest was cut off when Kai’s voice shouted from behind them.

“Dex!  Shy guy!  What are you doing here?”

They turned to see the fourteen-year-old adamantly waving them over from some ways down the street, though with her loud greeting it had sounded like she was much closer to them.

A few people walking by shot the girl annoyed glares, but she seemed oblivious to how disruptive she’d been to the general public.  Which was Kaikaina Grif in a nutshell, really.

Thoughts of cursing out jerk-ass shop owners fell from Grif’s mind at the presence of his little sister and Simmons’ death-grip on his arm relaxed somewhat.

The redhead sighed, grateful for the interruption, though he cast wary glances at the store and the alleyway the two Insurrectionists had disappeared down as they made their way to join up with Kai.

*****

“Look what I can do!” Kai bent her entire body backwards before flipping over into a standing position again using only her hands, “Isn’t being double-jointed awesome?”

“Um…” Simmons seemed at a loss as to how to even comment to that, focusing his eyes anywhere else but at Kai.

Her brother sighed, “Kai, how many times have I told you not to do in public?” his tone became decidedly harsher and he glared pointedly at her outfit, “…Especially when you’re wearing a skirt.”

They were sitting in a park area in the middle of the level where the shop Grif was no longer going to do business for was located.  Kai had insisted on going there because there was a statue she really liked and she wanted to show it to Simmons since they all happened to be in the area at once.

It was one of the few public places in The Slums that had “art” in it.  The sculpture wasn’t exactly Grif’s cup of tea: a metal artist had used a run-down vehicle and attempted to make an old Earth animal called a Warthog from it, but Grif honestly thought the shape of the sculpture animal’s body and limbs looked more like a cat’s or something, so he always called it a Puma in his head).  But, he supposed it was sort of nice that places like this existed here at all.

Kai glared at him, hands on her hips, “You’re no fun, Dex!  Steve says it’s awesome when I bend my leg over my head whenever I meet him here.”

“Yeah, yeah…” and then what she just said suddenly registered in his mind, “Wait, what?  Who the fuck is Steve?”

But Kai didn’t think it was an important question to answer, laughing instead and darting off to the other side of the park with Grif calling questions after her.

The boy sighed again, suddenly feeling exhausted.  If he was remembering correctly, Steve was a friend of Kai’s from Low Town who he would have to have some words with now, it seemed like.

If Kai was already this much of a handful, he was really starting to worry about what she would be like a couple more years down the road.  He shuddered at the thought.

Simmons coughed next to him, still rather relieved in a way to see Grif getting frustrated by his little sister’s antics more than what had happened before at the store.  It seemed like that issue had completely slipped his mind at the moment in the face of Kai being, well, _Kai_.

“She’s…lively, huh?” he joked awkwardly.

Grif snorted, a mix between annoyance and exasperation clouding his features, “She’s something, all right.”

“And…that flip was pretty impressive.” Simmons’ face turned beet red at the comment and he quickly came up with a way to avoid what he’d just said being misinterpreted by her overprotective big brother, “I—I mean…that kind of flexibility would definitely come in handy during military drills.”

“I’m sure.” Grif closed his eyes for a moment, the urge to nap very overwhelming in a peaceful place like this…especially with the day they’d just had.  Oh, who was he kidding?  Grif always wanted to nap here regardless.

There were a few minutes of blissful silence that followed.

“Can—can you do that?” Simmons’ voice was rushed and hesitant, as if he’d been debating asking the question at all, “Are you…double-jointed too, I—I mean?”

Grif opened one eyelid partially, frowning in thought at the question.  If he’d turned his head to the side to look at Simmons, he would have seen a very red-faced boy squirming uncomfortably and looking about ready to die of embarrassment for having even brought up the issue in the first place, but he didn’t, so he never saw or questioned the peculiar reaction Simmons had to his own query.

…He probably wouldn’t have even known _why_ Simmons was asking in the first place, truthfully.

“I don’t really know.” He answered finally, “Never had much reason to bend my leg over my head.”

“…I guess not.” Simmons laughed awkwardly, his body language relaxing somewhat once he realized he wasn’t going to be made fun of or looked at strangely for the question.

“Though if there were a back-flipping contest with an all-you-can-eat prize, I’d probably be pretty motivated to try.” The other boy joked.

Simmons grinned back at him.  Food definitely seemed to be a mighty prime motivator in Grif’s mind.

Deciding it was best to change the subject completely though, Simmons came up with another topic he’d been curious about, “…Kai always calls you Dex.”

A yawn, “Hmm?  Oh, yeah, that’s because it’s my name.”

“…Your name is Dex?” he was curious as to why no one else called him that.

He nodded, “It’s short for Dexter.” He frowned suddenly, turning to Simmons, “But I really can’t stand my name, so I go by Grif.  Kai’s the only one who calls me by it.”

Simmons nodded his head in understanding.

Grif eyed the other boy critically, “Speaking of that…what’s yours?”

“Huh?” Simmons blinked, not quite getting the question.

Grif snorted, “Come on, dude, what’s your name?  It can’t really be Simmons.”

The eighteen-year-old’s face became an embarrassed shade of red again, “N—no, you’re right…it isn’t.  That’s just my last name.”

“And I told you my name, so come on.  Fair is fair.” The tan boy chided.

Simmons sighed and looked down at the ground, mumbling something incoherently as he did so.

“What was that?” Grif leaned in closer, teasing, “Couldn’t hear you.”

“…Dick.” Simmons’ voice was still low, though he glanced over at Grif to gauge his reaction, “My name’s Dick.”

He blinked, taken by surprise, “…Seriously?”

He almost felt bad for the poor kid.  His parents must have _hated_ him.

“I—it’s short for Richard.” He tried explaining, his face still very much red, “But that’s my father’s name, so Mom calls me Dick for short.”

Even as he had to fight back a bark of laughter at the joke Simmons had unwittingly said, he felt a twinge of sympathy for Simmons.  Yeah, he wasn’t a big fan of his first name either, but he could imagine being called “Dick” was probably prime bullying material for local assholes.  Another reason, perhaps, why Simmons seemed so socially awkward all the time.

“That sucks, man, sorry.”

Simmons stared at him blankly, apparently in shock that Grif hadn’t chosen to use his newfound knowledge to tease him and all but confirming Grif’s suspicions of him being bullied because of it in the past, really.

He grinned conspiratorially, “Tell you what.  I’ll just call you Simmons and you call me Grif and we’ll pretend neither of us know our embarrassing first names.”

Simmons returned the smile sheepishly, a grateful look in his eyes, “Deal!”

*****

“…You coming or what?” Grif looked down from his hold on the ladder to the ground several meters below him, where a very hesitant-looking Simmons stood staring up at him nervously.

The tall boy bit his lip and looked at the ladder suspiciously, “Maybe…this isn’t a good idea.” He said lamely.

The other teen scoffed, “If you’re worried about the ladder, don’t be.  This is one of the most solid structures in The Slums so there’s no way it will break.”

He glanced up at the rafters towering high above them, “…How else do you think maintenance workers get up there?  If they didn’t have a secure way up, they couldn’t repair weak spots and eventually we’d all be crushed to death in a massive cave-in.”

He normally didn’t like dwelling on how the only thing keeping the cavern above their heads from collapsing were the large support beams and towers, and the rafters and walkways that splintered out between them like spider webs.  He kind of figured structural integrity points were the best way to convince Simmons that it was safe to be up there and he really wanted to share the view with him.

It was one of Grif’s favorite spots to be, after all, and he figured it would be an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for his Above Ground friend to see it.  They’d been so busy up until now the past two weeks that he’d nearly missed a chance to take time out for this.

He frowned, “It’s the ladder being secure I’m worried about, Grif…that’s a long way down to fall!”

“Oh.” Grif looked up at how seemingly endless the ladder appeared heading upwards from his vantage point.  He supposed he’d always been somewhat aware of how fatal a fall from it could be, but for some reason it had never crossed his mind in a panic-inducing way before.

“…Want to go up first so that if you fall I can try catching you?” he asked Simmons, completely serious and without any hint of teasing in his voice.

The pale boy’s face reddened at that suggestion for some reason and he gestured wildly with his hands, “N—no, of course not!  That’s not the issue here, Grif!”

…Okay, Grif wasn’t really sure why his question would get that flustered of a response to it, but whatever.  He’d been hanging around Simmons long enough now to know how odd he could be with social interactions.

He frowned, heading down the ladder again, “Well, I guess we don’t really have to if you don’t want to.” He said reluctantly.

“R—really?” Simmons looked at him with a mixture of relief and dubiousness.

If Grif hadn’t been holding onto the ladder, his shrug would have probably been more visible, “Yeah.  I mean, I wanted to show you something bitching awesome before left, but if you would rather do something else…”

The teen below him seemed to be inwardly deliberating something as Grif spoke and he sighed.

Grif stopped his descent when Simmons gripped onto the ladder below so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Let’s…just get this over with before I change my fucking mind.” There was hesitancy in his green eyes, but a determined look in their depths too.

Grif grinned.

…Despite Simmons’ concerns, the climb up the ladder was pretty uneventful, even with them having to take a few breaks so that Simmons could recollect himself and keep from panicking at what they were doing.  Grif was actually pretty impressed with him for sticking with it, considering how scared he obviously was.

It took about thirty minutes for them to reach the rafter above, Grif getting up on the black metal walkway first.

He turned around to see Simmons’ hand on the walkway behind him only to have a panic attack of his very own when the other teenager, hands sweaty from nerves and the death-grip he’d had on the ladder, slipped.

Grif dived down onto his stomach on the walkway, reaching out his hand and somehow managing to just _barely_ grab onto one of Simmons’.

He grunted with the effort as Simmons was able to regain his footing on the metal rungs of the ladder, helping to pull the Above Grounder up to the relative safety of the walkway as Simmons used his free hand to help steady himself on the walkway’s floor.

“Err…” Grif was honestly not sure how to respond to what just happened, his own hand now just as sweaty as Simmons’ and his heart going a mile a minute.

Simmons was in a crouched position on the floor with Grif kneeling over him worriedly.  His eyes were locked onto Grif’s hand clasped over his, not saying anything.

…Grif supposed that if Simmons wanted to scream and yell at him for nearly getting him killed over a dumb idea he had, he’d very much be in the right for it.

“I’m sorry…” he began, getting ready for the blow-out he was positive was about to come his way, “If you want…”

“I am not punching you so you can forget it, dumbass.” Simmons’ reply was curt and harsh as he turned his gaze from Grif’s hand to glare up at him, causing the other boy to immediately shut up, “It was my decision to come up here after all so don’t fucking apologize.”

“But—“

Simmons smiled slightly, looking down again at their hands, “Besides, you saved my life so I think that makes us even.  Thanks.”

Grif was about to argue the opposite, but knew it was probably pointless given how strangely stubborn Simmons could get on these matters.

Instead, he reluctantly let go of Simmons’ hand, irrationally fearful that the other teen might still trip and fall without his grip there, despite the high safety railings and wire that surrounded the walkways proper.  He figured it probably had something to do with residual guilt over Simmons nearly falling in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, Simmons stood on shaky legs and moved past Grif, gazing first at the rock ceiling literally only three or so meters above their heads and then over the side of the walkway they were standing on.

The empty air of the cavern greeted his sight initially, though, far below, one could make out the shapes of the numerous buildings and structures that comprised Level One-- even some indistinct, faraway blobs of people.  The tallest buildings below only seemed to be a third of the height of the top of the cavern.

“…Whoa.” Anything remotely intelligible that the boy had been prepared to say was lost, his eyes wide as he took in the panoramic view before him.

Grif beamed, feeling rather smug with Simmons’ reaction, “…Told you it was worth it.”

Simmons nodded in response, completely transfixed.  He could even make out some of the transport vehicles resembling little blocks from this height and angle and elevators moving about below.

Grif joined him in staring down at Level One, “This is one of my favorite places here.”

“…I can see why.” Simmons cast a glance at him finally, raising an eyebrow, “Though I’m sort of surprised considering how much effort it takes to get up here.”

He shrugged, “It’s a hassle, yeah, but when I first discovered this place I didn’t mind.”

The tan boy sat down on the walkway, looking out at the empty space all around them with a nostalgic glint in his eyes, “It was when I was little and our mom had just left.  I needed…some place where I could just be by myself for awhile.”

A scared little kid trying desperately to run away from his problems…  Maybe that was why, up until just a few minutes ago when Simmons had nearly fallen, he hadn’t even thought about how dangerous climbing the ladder could potentially be.

…Looking back on it now, he’d been pretty dumb then and probably extremely lucky, he’d wager.

Simmons sat down next to him, saying nothing.  Maybe he understood in a way, given the lengths he had gone just to get a few days of freedom from his life.

“…How’s the view compared to the ones in Above Ground?”

Grif wasn’t sure why he asked that.  Maybe he was just curious or maybe he was tired of the silence and dwelling on uncomfortable shit.

Simmons was staring at him, the expression on his face oddly unreadable for him.  He seemed to be getting better at masking his emotions at times.

“It’s better than most.” He finally said, though he wasn’t staring over the walkway anymore, “Though I didn’t really pay much attention to views there.”

“…Afraid to get near the windows on those skyscraper things?” Grif joked.

He smiled slightly, “A little.” Simmons admitted, “But I’m glad you showed me this one, at least.”

The other boy laughed, “Even if it almost got you killed?”

“Even if.” Simmons looked down, embarrassed, “I’ve never…really known anyone who wanted to share something personal with me before.”

“…Their loss, then.” Grif looked thoughtful, “Though I wouldn’t call this place ‘personal’ necessarily.  I just thought someone not from the area should see it.”

Simmons probably knew full well that he was trying to cover up showing a vulnerable side he hadn’t probably intended to show earlier, but he kindly chose to say nothing about it.  He nodded in agreement with what Grif had just said instead, “Makes sense.”

Grif looked oddly contemplative for a moment, “Though I suppose it _does_ make you think about things.”

“Like what?” they were falling into their usual routine again now that the immediate “wow” factor was over with.

“Like…” Grif frowned in thought for a moment before coming up with a topic, “Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

Simmons shot him an incredulous look at that, “…Seriously?”

Grif grinned at the disbelief in his friend’s voice, “Yeah, deep philosophical soul-wrenching questions like that.  Oh, and it is a fucking awesome spot to nap in!”

He shook his head in exasperation, “You _nap_ up here?”

“I nap everywhere.” He puffed out his chest with pride, “You should try it.  It’s awesome.”

“…I’ll take your word on it.” Simmons smiled slightly and Grif laid back down on the floor of the walkway, closing his eyes and determined to prove his point right then and there.  It was a matter of pride now.  Plus, climbing the ladder had been fairly exhausting.

“Hey, Grif?”

…Simmons had a knack for being the ultimate kill-joy when it came to his napping ambitions, however.

“Huh?”

He cracked an eye open, surprised to see Simmons looking off to the side and lost in thought.

Finally, the redhead took in a deep breath and spoke up once more, “I just…want to say thanks for the last two weeks.  I had a lot of fun.”

Grif raised an eyebrow at that, “Helping me with work and putting up with my crazy sister and our less-than-stellar tidiness?” he asked incredulously, “You and I have very different definitions of fun, dude.”

Simmons blushed in embarrassment, “I…I mean it, though.  It was a lot different from how things are at home.”

Grif regarded him carefully, “Do you…like living there?”

He wasn’t sure if the question was too personal or not, but he figured _what the hell?_ and asked it anyways.  If Simmons really didn’t want to answer him, he wouldn’t.

Simmons frowned, “I…both like it and I don’t.” he stared at Grif carefully, “What about you?  Do you hate it here?”

He yawned, “Well, it’s a shithole and everything, but I can’t say I hate everything about this place.”

After all, Kai was here too and he had some good friends and a semi-decent life for what it was worth.  He supposed things could always be a lot worse than what they were.

Regarding Simmons though, for the first time he really wondered what life was like in Above Ground.  Were people really that much better off?  Simmons didn’t seem as different from him as he would have thought someone from the “elite” tier would be.

“…You’d like some of the views there at least, Grif.” Simmons gave a weak smile, “Prime napping spots.”

“Cool.  You better nap in them for me like a champ.” He grinned, “Though you probably won’t have too much time for that right away, huh?”

Simmons’ face fell at the comment and Grif could have kicked himself for reminding the other teen about what he had come down here to get away from.

Before he could apologize though, Simmons smiled again in a decidedly self-deprecating fashion, “Probably not, unfortunately.  Military training frowns on naps.”

“…Bet they’re not too fond of chore wheels, either.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“At least there’s organization and structure there!” Simmons countered right back at him, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“But they ration food and that’s just sad.” Grif had to get in the last word somehow.

Simmons shook his head in exasperation before suddenly turning serious again so quickly that he caught the other boy off-guard with the change, “I’m…going to be in the military and I’m going to do my best to be a damn good officer.  My father’s one and, for all of his faults, I think…I think there’s a certain sense of pride and nobility in that profession.”

Grif was surprised since this was the first time Simmons had really talked about his feelings on the subject at all.  He’d always just assumed that the reason Simmons was distracting himself in The Slums was because he _wasn’t_ looking forward to military training.  It was odd to think that his viewpoints on it were so fundamentally different in reality.

His newfound friend (and yes, he felt he could almost start thinking of Simmons that way after how well they’d been getting along together) looked at him with an odd expression on his face, like he was saying something he really didn’t want to say but knew he should, “So…I don’t think I’ll ever do something like this again and I really hope I never see you again either, Grif.”

His meaning wasn’t lost on Grif: if Simmons truly meant to be a soldier in the Above Ground military the only reason he’d ever come to The Slums again would be if there was enough of a disturbance that The Council felt military operations were called for.

…And that usually ended badly for Slum-dwellers.

“Well, yeah, in that case I’d rather not see you again either.” Grif admitted, though he was surprised at how _strange_ it sounded to say that.

It was odd, in only about two weeks or so, he felt a strong bond with the Above Grounder he joked around with about being a nerd and anal when it came to his views on things like work and chores.  It felt weird to think about how impermanent a connection that had been in the grand scheme of things, even after he’d gone into the situation knowing full-well about it beforehand.

Simmons sighed, deflating somewhat and looking as if someone had just punched him in the gut.  Grif imagined saying all of that hadn’t been easy for him, either.

“So…thanks for everything then.” He finally said after collection himself once more, “I really mean it.”

Grrif smirked, wanting to desperately lessen the suddenly very heavy mood still lingering between them, “You’re welcome, nerd.”

Simmons smirked back, “Oh, just shut up and enjoy your nap, fatass.”

And then Simmons surprised Grif by sliding down onto the walkway floor next to him and closing his eyes.

Grif almost commented on it, but decided not to.  He knew it was close to the deadline Simmons had set for himself to return to Above Ground, which was one of the main reasons why he’d wanted to show him this spot today in the first place.  He figured that maybe Simmons just wanted to do something even more out of character for himself because of that.

So he did what he did best in these types of situations: closing his eyes as well in an effort to truly prove was more than capable of dozing off anywhere.

*****

…When Grif awoke a few hours later, the lighting panels in the cavern were starting to dim to signify dusk-- which meant he would have to be even more careful getting down the ladder.

Given the weird direction their conversation had gone earlier, Grif really wasn’t all that shocked to see that he was alone on the walkway either.

He frowned, glancing down over the railing at the crowded Slums below.

Simmons had probably felt it was easier to part ways like this given the directions their two lives were going in, and he supposed he was probably right, in a way.  After all, Grif wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with goodbyes anyways: most of his relationships he’d had that had ended didn’t really have any kind of closure to speak of-- like the ones with his parents.

…Besides, they really hadn’t known each other for very long and he doubted most people would have even considered the two of them real “friends” by any stretch of the imagination.

It was just a bizarre, if oddly memorable, chapter in his life that happened to close with very little fanfare.  Life goes on and all that shit.

Still, as he made his way carefully down the ladder and headed back towards Low Town to check on Kai and maybe talk to Tucker, Grif was somewhat surprised at how upset he felt all the same.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Well, at 34 pages long in a Word Document I can safely say this chapter kicks the first chapter’s butt in terms of length. XD Although, that’s really because I couldn’t find a spot where I wanted to stop it at so I just kept going and going. Sorry it took so long to and most of the other chapters will probably not be nearly as lengthy if I can find good points to stop on in them as I’m writing. And lookie, I managed to sneak in two more _Red vs. Blue_ characters as cameos while I was at it…they’re like Easter Eggs, I suppose. :D
> 
> Switching things up for the third chapter and writing from Simmons’ perspective, which means some new characters will be introduced! Also, probably a timeskip of sorts as well just to move things along since otherwise I will probably just keep writing dragged out conversations that go on forever, haha (it’s my thing, it’s what I do…I am honestly not sure why!).
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, and I hope this second chapter is an enjoyable read for you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters…they are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Three:

The gun clicked, signifying that the ammo clip for it was already spent.  Just as he reached out to pick up another one a loud siren blared throughout the practice hall.

Training was done for today, it seemed.

Richard “Dick” Simmons sighed and looked over at the holographic target he had been aiming for on the other side of the room.

On the blue figure there were five red marks that illustrated where he had landed hits.  He noticed two hits in the head and neck, which were the only two spots that could be considered “fatal.”  Two others would certainly incapacitate a target as they were at the left knee and right elbow specifically.  The last one was a side wound that would only probably constitute as a “knick.”

…And he’d fired at least twenty rounds that time.

As far as he was concerned, that was a huge failure.  After all, even if it had been only three months since he had been transferred out of training from the military academy how many countless hours since had he been down here, working to improve his aim?  He could almost picture his father’s disappointment when he read his progress reports.  His father was a pretty high-ranking officer in the military and all of them had access to the lower-ranking soldier training records for surveillance purposes.

He took in a deep breath, grateful at least that he wasn’t in a bathroom when that thought had occurred to him like the last time: people tended to look at guys who punched mirrors while sobbing a little strangely, and getting discharged for something like that would certainly not make his dad say anything to him but “I told you so.” before slamming the door in his face and locking it.

There was clapping coming from behind him and he turned around to see who it was this time being a sarcastic prick about his shooting ability only to pause at the sight of a friendly-looking smile coming from a young man clad in purple.

“You stayed late, huh?” Frank DuFresne was probably the closest person he had to a friend here, so he knew he hadn’t been trying to make fun of him with the gesture.  If anything, the bespectacled twenty-year-old’s tendency to try to please everyone could be annoying though Simmons supposed there could be worse flaws for a person to have…like debilitating self-confidence and anxiety issues, for starters.

Simmons shrugged dismissively, motioning to his handiwork ( _or lack thereof, in his opinion_ ), on the holographic target, “Yeah, for all the good it did.”

“Oh, come on now!  You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself!” he had a sort of self-deprecating smile on his face, “I mean, you’ve improved a lot!  I couldn’t even hit the target.”

Simmons gave the brown-haired man who had given himself the nickname of “Doc” when they’d first met a blank look, “…That’s because you actively refuse to fire a gun.”

“…Exactly!  I’m a pacifist, so firearms really aren’t my thing.”

“You do know you’re in the military, right?” Simmons had lost track of how many times he had asked his new friend that same exact question over the past couple of months.

“Only because it’s the law to go into training and it would be rude not to keep at it now for the people processing my files.” Doc smiled patiently, “But I still have the right to remain a conscientious objector!”

He wasn’t even going to attempt to wrap his brain around that logic.

Instead, Simmons sighed seeing as how he knew exactly how many regulations Doc broke on a regular basis since he had pretty much memorized all standard and non-standard military protocols before being stationed here.  But whenever he tried pointing that out, Doc would smile ingratiatingly and try to counter the argument with his own decidedly strange viewpoints.

…He supposed Doc was just insanely lucky that the commanding officer in charge of instructing them once they’d gone through basic had his own eccentric quirks and was a lot more laissez-faire in how he dealt with the soldiers under his command than someone else might be.  Otherwise, he would have been court-martialed for insubordination or even possibly deported to The Slums like some criminals were long ago.

“Ah, Simmons, back at it, I see.”

Speaking of their C.O., Simmons and Doc both started at his voice coming from directly behind them.

_Shit!  How the fuck does he always manage to do that?_

At first glance, the older man dressed in blue regarding them both with a bemused expression didn’t seem to be the type of person most would give a second thought to.  He certainly didn’t carry himself like any soldier Simmons had seen before with his relaxed posture and peaceful, friendly demeanor.  He was truly the exact opposite of his father in his mannerisms, which, while something he was grateful for in a way given their strained relationship, somehow made Simmons unsure of how to deal with him at times.

…But Captain Butch Flowers moved as silently and without detection as only the best stealth operatives and infiltration specialists were capable of.  He’d lost track of how many times he had turned around in an empty corridor only to be greeted by Captain Flowers’ friendly voice and a quick handshake.  One of the only things Simmons found rather odd about his C.O. was his need to be approachable to his men.  On one hand, he appreciated it a lot, but on the other-- well, it could probably be misconstrued by several army regulations.

If Flowers noticed the surprise his sudden appearance caused the two young men, he didn’t acknowledge it.  Instead, a calm smile etched its way onto his face as he waited for Simmons to respond to his initial comment.

Realizing this and feeling doubly mortified at making the captain wait as well as at realizing Flowers had more than likely seen his shooting earlier, he stammered out, “Y—yes, sir!”

Flowers chuckled, looking at the marks on the target, “You’re improving.”

“Er…” Simmons’ face blanched, appreciating the compliment but knowing it wasn’t deserved, “I…fired twenty rounds, sir.”

The captain walked over to the three dimensional image, studying it carefully.

At length, he said, “I was looking at the program logs earlier.  This is only your fourth attempt at the high-speed routines, correct?”

Simmons nodded.  He’d been a miserable failure at stationary target practice when he was training at the academy, so he had spent untold amounts of time there practicing in his off-hours.  Eventually, he had improved enough that he had been trying his hand at the moving target simulations, but only recently feeling borderline confident enough to attempt the higher speed routines that were more designed to closely resemble situations one might find on the field.

“Hitting the enemy that much will certainly ruin their day, don’t you think?” Flowers asked, “…Even if it takes you fifteen shots to get there, so long as they don’t hit you beforehand there’s no problem.  You’ll be ducking and taking cover in real battles, so missing shots is inevitable.”

“Um…”

“Though conserving ammunition should be a priority as well out in the field, so it’s best to use the programs here to figure out how to do just that before getting stuck in a situation where ammo will be limited.” Their C.O. nodded towards the hologram, “But, you’re on the right track in regards to that already.”

Simmons looked at the hologram as well, then back at Flowers quizzically, “I’m…afraid I don’t follow, sir.”

All he saw when he looked at the damn thing were all of the reminders of the mistakes he was still making.

Flowers smiled patiently, an eyebrow raised in mild amusement at his subordinate officer’s confusion, “Your first fifteen shots missed, yes, but your last five didn’t.” he looked pointedly at the four serious ‘wounds’ again, “And your last four were clean hits that would have taken a real human out of a fight completely.”

Simmons blinked, staring at the hologram again.  He hadn’t even noticed that when he had been shooting, but his commanding officer was completely right about what had happened now that he did think back on it.  All of his final rounds were the ones that had made contact.

Their captain saw the surprised understanding flickering across Simmons’ face and clapped him on the shoulder in a warm gesture that was almost fatherly.  The young man had to work quickly to school his face into a professional expression to avoid grinning like an idiot or tearing up like an even more pathetic idiot at the contact.

…He really did have to work on how emotional he tended to get over any sort of positive interaction with male authority figures in his life.  If he thought about it too much, it was downright embarrassing.

“Always focus on your improvements, Simmons, and dwell less on your failures.  It’s a much more effective way to motivate yourself to keep trying.” Flowers told him, apparently not noticing Simmons’ reaction to his earlier action.  Or, more likely, he did but chose to be polite and not address it in order to save the younger man from being further mortified.

“Y—yes, sir!” Simmons heard his voice catch and hated himself a little more, but enthusiastically saluted his superior anyways.

Flowers chuckled in response, “At ease, soldier.  I’m not here in my capacity as your commanding officer.”

“Y—you’re not?”

Well, he should have figured that out sooner: now that he was really looking at the older man closely, Simmons noticed he was dressed in the darker blue combat outfit that he seldom wore when giving the younger recruits under his command guidance.  Usually he wore a different set of aqua-colored armor when serving as their C.O. for some reason.

It was Flowers’ uniform of sorts for his other military duties.  Though, to be honest, Simmons wasn’t entirely sure of what those were exactly.  He didn’t feel it was in his right to pry for personal information from those higher ranked than himself and Flowers never seemed inclined to elaborate on his other duties either.  Though Simmons wouldn’t say he was evasive or secretive about them, just not very forthcoming about whatever those duties really entailed.

It made sense, in a way: with Simmons’ less-than-stellar test scores (not that he wasn’t more than capable or intelligent when it came to scholarly pursuits: he was just never able to do his absolute best on subjects when there was a lot of pressure and heavy stakes involved due to his nerves generally just getting in his own way) and Doc’s own as well, they probably weren’t top-priority soldiers for quick advancement.  It was only natural, therefore, that the soldier assigned to command them also had other duties.

…He could understand The Council’s assessment in theory at least, though he was desperate to prove them wrong all the same.  Which, unfortunately, often led to cases of him getting too much into his own head and messing things up even further: it was a never-ending cycle that often lead to frustration.

“Oh, are you here for training of your own, sir?” Doc, however, in his bid to be friendly and cordial to everyone, seemed to have no problems overstepping bounds in terms of rank.  A trait that was definitely going to get him into trouble one of these days.

“You betcha.” But, fortunately for Doc, Flowers was laidback about that sort of thing, “I’m going to be going on a mission soon, so I figured I should warm-up first.”

Just then, it occurred to Simmons that he had never actually seen Captain Butch Flowers so much as fire a weapon before.  In a way, Simmons was rather curious about his skills: he always seemed quite knowledgeable on the subject when instructing them or offering advice, but the young man knew from personal experience that sometimes innate knowledge didn’t translate over to ability.  He knew more about the mechanics of guns and the physics behind firing them than most of the soldiers around his age did because he had studied them so hard, but he was still just barely improving when it came to his actual shooting ability, after all.

Before he could work up the nerve to request permission to stay and observe in order to lessen his curiosity, Flowers spoke up again, “So, for the next few days you’ll be on your own.  Train hard, but don’t forget to take it easy sometimes.” He gave Simmons special notice, “I know a certain soldier here hasn’t left base yet even though he has leave to do so.”

“Um…” he couldn’t really deny the comment and his face flushed in embarrassment.  Where would he go, though?  He knew no one really close enough to stop by for a friendly visit within the city and he shopped online for most things anyways.

…He could visit his mother, he supposed, since she had mentioned in her last message not feeling very well.  It wasn’t like he would have to worry that much about seeing his dad there: even if he wasn’t away on business, the man had no time for his family--it had always been like that whenever Simmons or his mom were feeling under the weather.

One time, when Simmons had been five or so and had broken his arm after accidentally falling down the stairs it had taken the senior Richard Simmons a full week to notice his cast and his only comment upon noticing was that it wouldn’t have happened if the boy had had better balance.

“Take a nice, relaxing walk outside if nothing else.” His superior advised, thankfully pushing Simmons past his embarrassment and his not-very-pleasant trip down memory lane, “It does wonders for stress management.”

“That’s true!” Doc chimed in helpfully, “I know a great spot just outside the base that’s amazing for yoga.”

“Now that sounds lovely.” Flowers nodded approvingly at Doc’s suggestion, “I might have to try that out with you sometime, DuFresne.” He looked as if he’d come up with a brilliant idea just then, “Or we could all go together.  It would be a team-building exercise.”

“Sounds fun!”

“Um…” Simmons inwardly sighed, having almost forgotten about Captain Flowers’ leading quirks sometimes, “I’m…not sure regulations would allow that, sir.”

Flowers sighed in slight disappointment, “You’re right, of course.  The chain of command can be quite strict with that sort of thing, unfortunately.” He smiled, “Thank you for reminding me before I got too carried away again, Simmons.”

“Of course, sir.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he’d somehow managed to dodge a bullet there.

…Maybe it was because he had seen the shorts Doc liked wearing for yoga and it already didn’t leave much to the imagination even _without_ having actually seen Doc wearing them.

“And, DuFresne,” Flowers turned to his other subordinate, “When I get back I’d like to talk to you about possibly applying for the medic program.”

Doc seemed surprised at the statement, though he smiled sheepishly in response to it and nodded his head in understanding.

“Your alternative field medicine approaches aren’t perhaps ideal…” No doubt he was referring to the time when Doc had tried dressing a gunshot wound in the simulation runs with a glass of orange juice and a rubber ducky (of all things), “But your general outlook might be better suited to that line of work than soldiering and we could always use more field medics who try to do their jobs well, if nothing else.”

Ah, so Flowers had been trying to come up with a creative solution to Doc’s professed pacifism.  Simmons was impressed: any other C.O. would have probably punished Doc for insubordination by this point, but Flowers had decided to take a different approach.

In a way, he was glad: Doc could try his patience sometimes, but he was by far the friendliest soldier Simmons had encountered here.  Most of the other recruits in their rank ignored him.  Or, worse yet, seemed to pick up on his anxiety and confidence issues and teased him mercilessly-- Doc was more understanding about them given his own eccentricities and how often his own views got him made fun of by others.  Even though medic training would take Doc out of the unit entirely, it was probably the best fit for a self-proclaimed ‘conscientious objector’ in the military and he wouldn’t have to worry about him getting into trouble anymore.  Plus, at the very least they could still exchange messages.

“…I’ll discuss it more with you when I get back.” Flowers told him.

Doc nodded, “Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir!  This will be just like the time when I applied for medical school right after academy training was up and got rejected!”

Flowers looked bemused, “Well, hopefully it will turn out differently.”

“You bet!  This time I won’t post my academy transcripts.”

Simmons had to bite down on his lip to keep from saying that he’d still have to do that, not wanting to rain on his friend’s parade with his tendency to be an “insufferable know-it-all” as some of the other soldiers liked to refer to him.

Just then the double-doors to the training room opened and a man in white battle armor that Simmons had seen around the base but never spoken to walked in.  He regarded the three of them for a moment before completely ignoring the two lower-ranked soldiers and placing his attention entirely on their commanding officer.

“Ah, there you are, chap!” he greeted in an accent Simmons recognized as an old Earth one called ‘British’ that was pretty rare to hear at all anymore, “Deciding to start early, are we?  That’s the spirit!”

Flowers dismissed his subordinates with a nod of his head and a warm smile, the two young men taking their cue and quickly departing from the training zone.

Simmons glanced over his shoulder once out of curiosity as he left, remembering his earlier failed intention of asking Flowers if he could observe his training for a moment.

To his surprise, the man in blue didn’t pick up one of the assorted firearms in the practice hall.  Instead, he grasped one of the utilitarian combat knives.

With a seemingly simple flick of the wrist and without so much as even glancing at his intended target as his attention focused entirely it seemed on conversing with the mustached man who had addressed him earlier, the knife flew through the air in a silver blur.

…Its blade was neatly embedded up to the hilt right between the eyes of the hologram that had been charging the two men seconds before from the other side of the hall just as the doors closed behind the surprised young soldier.

*****

There were many bases throughout Above Ground: the military being one of the first things the original Council had prioritized establishing when people were relocated from the underground mining colony later referred to as The Slums to the surface.

The earlier bases had been built around what had at the time been the outskirts of the new settlement, though now they were more or less just smack in the middle of the city thanks to population and development growth with the large, constantly being upgraded and built upon Administration Center where The Council and other higher-ups in the Above Ground government conducted business being located in the very center of it all, easily towering over any of the other buildings in the city.  They were easy enough to discern from their older architectural designs, no matter what attempts were done to keep them updated as well as by their smaller sizes in general compared to the much larger, multi-tiered bases that had been built in the generations since Above Ground had been established.

Simmons had originally assumed that, after the military academy, he would have been assigned to one of the smaller, earlier bases as that was usually the established norm for green recruits.

To his surprise, he and Doc had been handpicked by Captain Butch Flowers for whatever reason he still couldn’t fathom.  Even if he knew he could do more than that, his test scores had been abysmal at best and from what Doc had said, his weren’t any better: so _why_ anyone would select them personally was a total mystery.  Which meant that they had been transferred to the most recent and one of the most high-tech military bases instead since Flowers was assigned there.

…It was known as the Mother of Invention (odd name for a base, he personally thought) and it was fucking _huge_ : nearly competing with the Administration Center in terms of height and width.

Evidently, similarly to the Administration Center and a few other prominent buildings in Above Ground, it had been constructed from the hollowed-out remnants of one of the original colony ships that had been abandoned when the first settlers moved underground.  He supposed it could be true given the sheer size of the building: those colony ship specs were quite impressive in the records given how they were made to carry pretty much everything needed for permanent settlement along with a shitload of people, though little if anything spaceship-like remained visible in the base itself.  It simply appeared to be your standard state-of-the-art building at first glance.

…With soldiers routinely on patrol on the grounds, tanks and other military vehicles parked in front of large hangars-- and it was made out of a highly-resistant shielding material in the off-chance that someone might actually be stupid enough ( _or suicidal enough_ ) to try attacking.

Hell, the area around the base was more akin to being its own highly efficient small city.  It wasn’t really surprising that Simmons didn’t feel the need to leave the grounds much when he had free time.

Besides, walking around the city made him oddly self-conscious about his social awkwardness and not having a ton of friends didn’t help, so it kind of bummed him out instead of helping him unwind.

It didn’t help that whenever he walked the clean, orderly streets where everyone always had plenty of personal space and room to get to their destinations and got lost in the incessant chatter of others floating through his ears as they ignored him-- with the pale yellow sunlight of this world beating down on him or the shade from clouds overhead, he somehow always, _always_ managed to stop walking in front of one of the thick, forbidden-looking metal doors with computer screens flashing red warning signs to move along that signified one of the sealed-off elevator shafts to The Slums.

He’d always stare at the door for several seconds, fingers twitching at the possibility of just prodding the security terminal coding before an officer would ask him if he needed anything and he’d hurry along his way.

…Simmons had lost count of the times that had occurred, truthfully.

At first, he’d understood the desire.  Admittedly, Simmons had left there without a proper goodbye to someone he had grown oddly attached to in a short amount of time when he had been most desperate for any kind of friendship or contact.  It was of his own volition, of course: he’d been all too terrified of ruining not only his friendship with Grif, but what had always been his plans for the future so he’d felt it was a necessary choice even if he sometimes still kicked himself over it.  It was only natural to have lingering feelings of doubt and guilt over it.

…But going on two years?  It unnerved Simmons that he still held so much regret over his choice.

Even if he probably had felt more alive and free in that excursion than he had in his entire life, and it was quite sad to unfortunately admit to himself how true that probably was, it still seemed ridiculously pathetic to him.

When he did that sort of thing, Simmons could almost picture his father looking down on him disappointed...and Grif laughing in amusement before making a joke about how he needed to lighten up more.

He honestly wasn’t sure which of those images upset him more, so he started trying to avoid going into the city altogether.  It was the most logical response he could think of to a decidedly very illogical situation.

The training hall that they had been in was located in one of the subbasements, so they rode the main elevator to ground floor level with Simmons mostly tuning out Doc’s inane chatter about New Age medicine and the culinary wonders of banana nut bread as they went.

It wasn’t until the elevator doors chimed open and they stepped out into the well-lit, but sparsely decorated ground floor with its clear sheet of windows (deceptively weak-looking, but not even a barrage of bullet fire or a rocket could break the thick panes of the translucent shielding the windows had in lieu of glass) that Doc said something that caused him to key into the conversation again.

“…Although, Captain Flowers might be right about the benefits of taking some time away from the base, Simmons.” His friend looked at him in concern, “You work yourself way too hard.  Have you ever gone on vacation before?”

Simmons huffed, at first wanting to reply that for his productivity it was best that he keep with routine if he could and, that to him, working in general actually _was_ fun…but he didn’t want to offend Doc’s more sensitive nature.  Although, given what some people said about the bespectacled soldier to his face at times it seemed nearly impossible to do.  Simmons envied the other young soldier’s self-esteem, but he also felt the urge to defend himself from the viewpoint that he couldn’t ever relax.  Okay, well, that was mostly true because he was overly high-strung and he knew it, but that didn’t mean he wanted people to _think_ it about him all the same since that could lead to future taunting.

So, instead, he said simply, “Once.  Two years ago.”

Doc whistled, “…That’s a pretty long time, Simmons.” And, when he put the timeframe together in his head, “You mean before you had to go to the academy?”

He nodded briefly.  When it seemed like Doc was waiting for him to elaborate he added, “I…don’t really want to talk about it.”

An understanding look crossed over his teammate’s features, “That bad, huh?”

“Actually…no.” he couldn’t help the nostalgic smile that spread upon his face, “It was really great.”

Doc tilted his head and regarded Simmons with a confused look in his eyes, “So, why do you not want to talk about it, then?”

The other soldier shifted uncomfortably under his regard, his eyes darting to some other soldiers heading towards the elevator.  With Doc it was probably okay to talk about what had happened, but someone else happening to overhear it…

His face paled at the dawning realization beginning to creep up onto his friend’s face.

“Don’t tell me you went—“

Without thinking, he pushed his gloved hand over Doc’s mouth, green eyes taking in the two female soldiers moving past them to the elevator.

“Why, yes, Doc, it _was_ a surprise!” he rambled in a high-pitched squeal, his brain trying to come up with something to say to divert attention from Doc’s failed inquiry, “How’d you guess I found the…er, ice machine?”

Simmons so wanted to shoot himself.  He really did.

The two women looked at both men strangely before the door to the elevator shut, probably trying to figure out what he’d been blabbing on about so hysterically.

Simmons sighed as they disappeared from view, rather disappointed that his skills talking around women were still as woefully lacking as they had always been.

Slowly, he removed his hand from Doc’s mouth, “That isn’t something you should say out loud, Doc.” He advised.

Doc nodded, apparently now remembering where they were, “Sorry.” He looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and awe, “But…it’s true?”

They moved over to the side of the building with the windows and Simmons nodded.  He looked at Doc skeptically, “Don’t believe me?”

He shook his head emphatically, “Of course I do, you wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

Simmons was touched by the brown-haired soldier’s acceptance of what he’d just said and he was rather relieved that he wasn’t challenged in any way to prove it too.

“So, what’s it like down there?” his tone was conversationally light as if he were talking about anything under the sun, but there was a curious spark in Doc’s brown eyes.

Simmons raised an eyebrow incredulously, “You mean you want to know if it’s as bad as everyone says it is?”

Doc looked absolutely offended at the accusation, “Of course not!  I mean, I know it’s probably not great or anything, but I always believed the media and government portrayals of everybody living down there were way too harsh to be accurate.” He frowned, “And quite mean too!  It’s easy enough to stereotype like that when most don’t know enough to refute it.”

Sometimes, Doc’s sensitive and overly politically correct way of thinking did hold some moments of logic.  He was grateful now was one of those times.

He relaxed somewhat, thinking back on his impromptu vacation.  Well, it was probably more like he was “fleeing down there” because he wanted to prove he could and he really hadn’t wanted to be around his dad on one of the rare instances when the senior Simmons had been forced to take leave from his work-- but who was being picky?

“It isn’t…anything like how it’s described here.” He admitted, “I mean, it’s crowded as all fuck and there’s different views on things…but, most of the people are pretty nice in their own ways.” His face tinged pink slightly at memories that still came way too quickly to him after all this time, “I even…made a few friends.”

It was the first time he’d ever said anything about his time in The Slums to someone else.  He supposed it was because at least Doc was a pretty neutral listener compared to others in his life.  He was pretty sure his mom was still in denial over the whole thing, despite the note he’d left her: she’d always been a bit more gullible when it came to news reports.  Beyond not caring much in the first place about what his son did, his father _never_ tolerated anything that went against military protocol and the situation in The Slums was always a trigger subject in that regard.

“That’s pretty nice.” Doc smiled slightly, “Do you keep in touch?”

Simmons gave him a blank look, not sure if he should even try to dignify that with an answer.

…He wish he could have kept in touch, truthfully.  But that was entirely beside the point.

Doc thought about his question for a few seconds and realization struck him as to why Simmons was not responding.  His smiled turned sheepish, his own cheeks reddening, “Right!  Sorry!  I forgot that it’s not like that’s an area you can communicate with easily.”

“It’s okay.  I…sort of knew that when I went down there in the first place.”

Doc looked slightly sympathetic again, perhaps Simmons’ voice had caught on some unknown pitch to illicit the reaction, but then he quickly regarded his friend somewhat in awe, “Still, I’m impressed!  Going down there by yourself and not to ‘slum,’” he used the term disparagingly, and it made sense to Simmons why someone like Doc would dislike the concept (also, it made him feel somewhat touched that Doc apparently thought enough of his character that he didn’t even pertain the idea that Simmons could have just gone down there to harass Slum residents like other kids do), “I don’t think I’d ever have the courage to do something like that.”

Being looked at with anything akin to admiration was a hard thing for Simmons to process and he wiped at his eyes slightly to offset the watery feeling beginning to well up in them.  Damn it, he was _not_ going to keep crying every time someone said something remotely positive about him!

“Were your parents upset with you?” Doc was still plowing along with his questions, thankfully missing another one of Simmons’ embarrassing inner battles in the process, “I know my family would have freaked!”

“Um…” he paused, trying to think back on the day when he’d reluctantly went back to the surface and managed to trudge his protesting feet home.

His mother had been upset, yes-- hysterically bawling and hugging him the second the door had opened.  After composing herself a good ten minutes later and moving the tall boy to arm’s length, she scrutinized him to ensure that he looked all right and healthy, and then smiled…which he had returned reassuringly.  After that, she just seemed to want to pretend the entire worrying affair of late teenage rebellion never happened and he decided to honor that for her own sake.

His father, as he had expected, barely seemed to notice that he’d even been missing.  The only mention of him even knowing that Simmons had been gone and to _where_ was one emotionless look his way and a clipped comment about how he expected that his son had gotten whatever it was out of his system and that training should be his top priority from that point on.

…And when Simmons went to bed that night, alone in his way-too quiet room he’d wished instead for an ugly, messy couch and someone who at least tried to stave off sleep to let him get a few of the things swirling through his mind out in the open.

“My mom had been a little upset.” He figured it was best to not complain to Doc about his issues with his father.  He was trying to learn to be a little less open about that side of himself to others now, just to avoid potential embarrassment later on in the form of bullying.  Doc was nice and all, but several of the other younger soldiers stationed here?  …Total assholes.  He wasn’t about to give them anymore ammunition to use against him if he could help it.

If Doc noticed the intentional absence of anything related to his father in Simmons’ response, he chose not to mention it.

They had moved closer to one of the exits leading to the outside yards and the conversation between them died instantly when the door opened.  Three armored soldiers had been making their way to the main building of the Mother of Invention base entered.  It was best to never discuss The Slums around people when you didn’t know their views on the subject.  Simmons was thankful that Doc had enough common sense to remember that, at least.

The three soldiers were ones he knew belonged to a higher-ranked program housed here: some sort of top secret covert operation for The Council.  Simmons had seen them numerous times around the base, though he didn’t know any of them personally.  When he’d been younger, he had heard his father mutter under his breath something about “Freelancers” when contacting colleagues.  His father had a lot of contacts and connections throughout the military and government, and he apparently knew a lot of things going on behind the scenes because of that…but, since they never talked and his father would never discuss confidential information with a no-name anyways, it was beside the point.  Simmons had honestly been surprised to discover it was a self-contained Above Ground military unit and not a codename for some sort of mercenary group, which was always what the name brought to mind for him anyways.  While he still didn’t know much about the group or how they operated, from what he gathered the name came from the fact that they were only loosely associated with The Council and were given more freedom in how they approached their missions.

…And the reason for that, apparently, was because a lot of their missions were of the decidedly nasty variety.  The general consensus amongst most run-of-the-mill soldiers stationed at the base was to have as little interaction with the group as possible.

Still, from what he had heard and the fact that they were usually seen more in general too, the trio conversing amongst themselves now were usually considered at least somewhat more approachable.  If a person was tasked with finding a Freelancer for whatever reason, they were often considered the safest bets.

“Okay, that was actually fucking scary.” A blond-haired young man probably only a couple years older than Simmons and Doc, it seemed, wearing steel-colored armor with yellow trim shuddered quite visibly as he recalled whatever he was referring to.

“…It certainly was something.” Another blond-haired man with pale blue eyes and purple armor in a decidedly more violet hue than Doc’s and with signs of actual use given the slight dents one could see in it despite obviously being well-maintained agreed.

“That…can’t be normal, right?” the first speaker seemed quite upset at whatever had happened, “I mean, humans can’t do that sort of thing physically.”

“No, Wash, it is perfectly normal for someone to be able to throw a tank across a field.” The brown-haired man in tan armor’s tone was patronizingly sarcastic.  There was a scar running down the right side of his face, showing off an eye that was somewhat opaque and unseeing-- the result, no doubt, of a rather bad injury.

The younger of the three, Wash (Simmons was pretty sure it was short for “Washington”-- for whatever reason, the codenames for Freelancer soldiers were various states/provinces from a country that used to exist back on Earth.  He’d never understood why and he doubted very much that anyone would bother explaining it to him even if he asked), didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that his friend was teasing him…or he was so used to it he didn’t take offense anymore, “So is super-strength one of her armor’s specific tech upgrades?”

“It would have to be.” The man in violet armor frowned somewhat, “…Though the combat skills are all natural, I bet.”

Washington nodded his head in agreement, whistling appreciatively, “Yeah, it’s kind of insane that she was only just now recruited.”

“…Especially since our last new recruit did something as embarrassing as, oh, I don’t know….getting a grappling hook attached to his balls.” The brown-haired soldier grinned.

The younger man’s face took on an embarrassed shade of red Simmons was all too familiar with at the comment ( _strange to see how it looked on someone else_ ), “Oh, fuck you!  That only happened once.”

“I know.” He laughed jovially, “And it’s _still_ hilarious.”

The other blond-haired soldier was trying his hardest to keep the slight smile beginning to form on his face from getting any larger, “…It is rather impressive that you managed to do that at all, if you think about it.” He said, as a way of trying to alleviate the younger Freelancer’s embarrassment while still having fun at his expense.

Washington glared at both of them in mild annoyance before letting out an exasperated sigh, “I hate you guys.”

“Aw, we love you too, buddy.” Tan Armor joked, ignoring the glare sent his way in response.

Desperate to change the subject, Washington asked, “Hey, do you think she could beat Carolina in a match?”

His friends exchanged significant looks with one another.  Apparently the seemingly harmless enough question had them both troubled for some reason.

“…That would probably be a really bad idea.” The man in the violet armor ( _the name “North” clicked in Simmons’ head finally for him_ ) said.

Washington looked confused, “Why?”

“Because it would probably be more of a bloodbath than a friendly match.”

The man in the tan armor ( _“York” if memory was serving him right now_ ), let out a weary sigh, “You know how Carolina gets, Wash.  She’s already not too keen on how quickly Agent Texas has risen in the rankings.” He frowned slightly, “I’m not even sure she’s stopped running practice drills this last week.”

North looked at the troubled expression darkening the man’s face, “And I can guess where you were on your way to when we ran into you, then.”

An almost sheepish-looking grin crossed the other Freelancer’s face at that, “Am I that obvious?”

“A little.” He had an understanding smile on his face.

“…About what?” Washington looked completely out of the loop at the exchange, glancing back and forth between his teammates for any clue as to what he was missing.

Unfortunately for him, this lead to more amusement at his expense on his friends’ behalves.

Smiling, York clapped him on the shoulder, “…We’ll tell you when you’re older, kiddo.  Maybe even with picture books.”

He pouted, “…You both suck.”

York’s expression lingered on amused for a few more seconds before he turned serious again, “…I’m not too sure what her reaction’s going to be to the tank incident today.” He admitted finally, looking unsure as to whether or not he even wanted to know it.

“…Hopefully not as explosive as South’s will be.” North’s voice had a weary note to it that hadn’t been there before.

York and Washington both gave North sympathetic looks.  Agent South Dakota was particularly famous around the base for her volatile temper if in a bad mood: Simmons was fairly certain some of the dents he’d passed on the walls were from her fists, if rumors could be believed, and the fact that the walls had metal plating kind of made that a pretty fucking scary notion to him.

“Is she still mad?” Washington asked quietly, “That you…rose up higher in the ranks than her?”

North gave the younger soldier a grateful smile for his concern, “Among…other things.” He told him, sharing another look with York that seemed to say a lot more than he felt comfortable talking about out loud.

“That sucks.” Washington didn’t notice the silent exchange between his teammates, frowning to himself, “And Maine’s been even more withdrawn than usual too…” his tone was starting to sound even more worried.

Another pointed look over the top of Washington’s downturned head, both Freelancers’ expressions momentarily clouding over at what he had just said.

North patted Washington’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, “No need to worry, Wash.  I know my sister.  She’s going to be fuming for a little while longer, but she’ll come around eventually-- and be even more fired up than before to replace me in the mission rankings.”

York nodded in agreement, “And I wouldn’t worry too much about Maine.  You know how he gets sometimes.  You’re about the only person he remotely interacts with, so I’m pretty sure he’ll come around to…” he struggled to come up with a way to finish that sentence, “…Not really talking but being okay hanging around your general vicinity again soon.”

“…” Washington looked at him doubtfully.

York shrugged, “Okay, I have no fucking clue how the two of you have a friendship.” He admitted, “The guy _never_ talks!”

Washington couldn’t help but smile slightly at the exasperated tone of York’s voice and the other man seemed relieved that the younger Freelancer had cheered up somewhat at least.

Their conversation continued well down the hallway, though they moved out of ear-range for Doc and Simmons, the two only hearing faint indecipherable snippets of conversation after that.  They hadn’t been acknowledged at all since the three had been so engrossed in their own dialogue.

…Which, Simmons was grateful for, truthfully: they hadn’t _meant_ to eavesdrop, after all, so he would have been horribly upset having been caught doing just that.

“…Crazy, huh?” Doc asked in a joking manner a few seconds later, looking similarly relieved.

He could only nod in agreement, “Tell me about it.”

The more he heard of Project Freelancer, the more certain he was that the program’s bizarre reputation at the base was not without merit.  Something about that exchange had made him feel uneasy, though he couldn’t place _why_ that was exactly.

Well, beyond the part about a soldier throwing a God-damned tank across a field.

…That was just fucking insane.

*****

That could have probably gone better.

Simmons felt the tension in his muscles only slightly lessen as he made his way across the field, only barely registering that he’d made it back to base at all.

His first day “off” and he’d avoided going out with Doc for his routine yoga practice, instead opting to visit his mother at home.

He had always hated going into the city and this trip had just reminded him why.  Generally speaking, for as advanced a society as Above Ground was, the public transportation sucked ass.

It had been running late, which meant that he’d had to stand awkwardly waiting for one of the shuttles to arrive.  All the while, he wished he had changed to regular street clothes instead of wearing the gray and black uniform all soldiers were required to wear outside of their special armor.  …He would have, normally, but his mother actually liked seeing him in uniform and he’d wanted to do something nice for her since they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

Simmons had always been self-conscious and he was horribly awkward in general when out in public, but in a military uniform he felt he stood out even more and for all the wrong reasons: he imagined the eyes of everyone around him boring into his scrawny, lanky frame and thinking it was only a matter of time before the pathetic excuse for a soldier before them could no longer pretend that he was cut out for such a profession.

…He’d practically thrown himself onto the shuttle when it finally got there, shaking with each breath as he tried to distill the sudden onslaught of panic those thoughts had caused him.

When the shuttle stopped in the high-end residential district with its spacious homes designed specifically for top-tier military personnel and their families and he stood to disembark, he ignored the dawning looks of smug realization he could just imagine on the faces of some of the other passengers.

_“Oh, so that explains it!  He must be sticking around this long because he’s got an in from his parents!”_

He tried walking away from the shuttle with jaw set and shoulders tall: a look he’d seen his father do effortlessly even in front of critics.  Indeed, Simmons was fairly certain that was probably his father’s natural and _only_ look.  He never smiled or relaxed even in the few image files he showed up in during rare family outings.

Simmons then tried ignoring the nagging doubt that his attempt only looked laughable at best coming from someone as lanky and clunky as himself.

The visit with his mother was, thankfully, a bit more pleasant than the trip had been though he did worry a bit at how thin she looked and how exhausted she seemed to be since the last time he had seen her.

She’d brushed off his concern, taking a hold of his hand and he did notice with no mild amount of concern that her hands were as cold as ice despite how she had the house’s temperature control gauge set to near sweltering levels.  She moved them past her room upstairs, then past his father’s (he couldn’t remember a time when they’d actually shared a bedroom), and his own room to look at a painting she’d bought online recently, all while worrying about how he was doing at the base since he didn’t message enough and her wondering if he was getting enough to eat there too.

…She could be a bit of a worrier at times and Simmons had long since learned that letting her indulge in it for a while made things run smoother.

Plus, it made her happy too and he preferred that to the distant, lonely look that he often saw in her eyes when she didn’t think he was looking.

So he suffered through the Q and A session his visit turned into admirably, finally getting a chance to convince her to see a doctor when she had time to do so.

Neither of them mentioned his father or even glanced at the closed doors of the house that signified his territory that they had to have permission to enter.

The only real awkwardness from the visit had come at the end, when his mother stepped away from hugging him and said that next time she’d like to hear that he’d met someone special.

…She always made comments like that, even since he’d been a teen.  Simmons had always tried to hide how deep his nervousness with interacting with people ran since he knew his mother’s main reasoning for saying so was the hope of grandchildren someday.  Admitting he had a fear of talking to girls in most situations in particular wasn’t something he ever wanted to say to her, since he figured it would just make her more worried about him and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

It also didn’t help his nerves when he started picturing the exact moment he’d left The Slums whenever she said it now, regardless of how hard he would try not to.

So his voice caught in his throat then and he’d managed to make up an excuse about how he was too busy to really socialize at the moment.  Which was partially true anyways, with the amount of extra training he’d been doing…which was what he so desperately wanted to be doing instead of having to talk to his mother about that topic in particular again, and then he’d been home free to think about his social failings, worry about his mother’s health, and try to figure out how he could make up for lost time later on at target practice before daylight ended.

And, naturally, the ball of dread and nervous energy that had settled in the pit of his stomach as a result of his first attempt at taking his C.O.’s advice about trying to take some free time to relax, seemed even more unbearable than the one he usually carried around with him while on duty way.

… _Figured_.

“…I need those crates moved to the other side of this strip, pronto!”

A woman in a pilot’s white uniform was balking orders at her assistants running about hectically nearby.  Simmons hadn’t even noticed that he’d moved so close to the docking area for the military transports on his way back to the barracks.

Just as he’d moved past them, the woman turned her head slightly and noticed his presence.  She had brown hair clipped short and tan skin, having the appearance of someone who perhaps preferred being outside over indoors if she could arrange it.

“Hey.  You.” She narrowed her eyes and started walking in his direction with purpose, a data-pad in her gloved hand.

Simmons started, instinctively whipping his head around to see who behind him she was talking to: he figured there must be someone else there since he never really interacted with pilots.

…But there was no one in any close vicinity that he could see.

The woman was almost there and he took a step back at the sudden proximity, unsurely pointing a finger at his own chest with a questioning look on his face while tongue-tied for the moment, at least.

She let out an aggravated sigh, “Yes, _you_.” She confirmed, with an expression that said she was far from impressed as she looked him over, “Are you stationed here?”

Simmons nodded, not sure if he could trust his voice yet and kicking himself mentally all the while for it.

“Ah, good.  You’re capable of responding, at least.” Her tone had a joking, sarcastic quality to it.

“Um…”

Before he could formulate anything remotely articulate to say, the pilot was shoving the data-pad roughly into his hands.

“I was supposed to have someone deliver this information the minute we landed, but as you can see we’re understaffed at the moment and getting anyone to do anything around here is worse than pulling teeth.” She turned around to survey where the three soldiers under her command were moving the crates, “Not there-there… _there_!” she bellowed across the field to them, pointing to the corner opposite the one they had been moving the crates to.

The men looked to where she’d indicated, the trio letting loose a collective sigh as their shoulders sagged even more.  Evidently, this was a routine they seemed sadly familiar with.

“…How many times they can get to the wrong corner on a rectangular field amazes me.” The woman sighed herself, “…I counted five times once.”

“…” Simmons, a complete stranger to this crew and routine, stood there mutely unsure of whether or not he should make a comment on if she was simply talking to herself.

She turned her attention back to him, “At any rate, you showing up just now completely saved all of our asses.” She tapped the data-pad lightly with her finger, “Take that inside the base and up to the highest level.  It’s supposed to go directly to the Counselor.”

Simmons’ eyes widened slightly at the title.  Everyone more or less knew about the man who held it.  On record he was in charge of the psychologists stationed in the medical ward who were tasked with maintaining the emotional and mental health of everyone stationed at the Mother of Invention though, in general, the medical staff tended to handle all daily matters on their own.

…In reality, he was actually the right-hand man of the person most people simply knew as the Director: the individual in charge of one of the most secretive branches of military operation for Above Ground-- Project Freelancer.  Not a lot was known about him ( _highly classified shit, most definitely_ ), but he had a shit-load of clout in The Council, which in turn gave Project Freelancer a lot more freedom in general.

And the Counselor, naturally given that position, had duties that were very much far removed from the norm for a military psychologist.

Curiously, Simmons’ gaze dropped down to the data-pad he was clutching tightly.  Whatever data the blinking lights swimming across the sleek surface contained, it apparently was too risky to send using instant transferring through the normal communication channels.  The red lines blinking every so often amongst the blues and greens of that mysterious data stream meant that it was encrypted heavily too.

“It’s secure, so no worries there.  Though I’d recommend not losing it.”

He opened his mouth at this, throat dry, to ask if it really was such a good idea to hand off the pad to just about anyone then.

“It’s not anything highly vital.” She seemed to be able to read his expression even before he voiced his concerns, “They just like testing out new encryptions with everything.” She smirked, “Even if you tried, I’m not sure you could get it deciphered.”

…Well, no, probably not for awhile at least.  But Simmons figured admitting he had a knack for technology probably wasn’t a good thing at the moment, especially since he had no desire to break protocol _or_ hack a communiqué for Project Freelancer.

“Besides, you work here and no one is stupid enough to piss off the Director.”

He gulped nervously and nodded.  That much he knew was true: it was one of the most sure-fire ways to get demoted or court-martialed at the Mother of Invention.

“…Just tell him that Four Seven Niner corralled you into doing her a favor.” She flashed a brief smile before adding, “Hopefully you’ll get your ability to talk back by then.”

Before Simmons could even process what had happened enough to try to explain that he wasn’t really on-duty at the moment, she was trotting back over to the three pilots, “Put some muscle into it, we need this space cleared in an hour!”

At the sound of their sighing, Simmons let out one of his own at this strange turn of events.

Well, at least all of that tension and nervousness in the aftermath of his “free day” was gone.

…Now it was replaced with the usual anxiety he felt when he was determined to get a task done and done well.

Thank goodness for small miracles, he supposed.

*****

As it turned out, the interaction with the Counselor wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as he had expected it to be.

The data-pad itself apparently gave him access through the higher security levels that safeguarded the top levels of the Mother of Invention and he was on the top floor in a matter of moments.

Another soldier pointed him in the direction of an office off in a side hallway and he found the dark-skinned man usually referred to only as the Counselor sitting behind a surprisingly plain metallic desk.  Numerous data-pads were collected around him and on the desk was a computer terminal with figures and coding swimming on it in a quick pace Simmons couldn’t begin to guess at from a mere glance.

…The walls of the space, from floor to ceiling, were covered in computer terminals as well.  They were off at the moment, but it made the twenty-year-old wonder what the Counselor was working on that could require so much room to display all of the information on.  A paranoid part of his brain kept wanting to infer that perhaps the Counselor monitored all areas of the base itself, but that part was freaking him out more than just a little bit, so he told it to shut the fuck up.

When he handed him the data-pad and said what the pilot had instructed him to, the Counselor sighed and mumbled something about how Four Seven Niner certainly had her own way of fulfilling objectives before thanking Simmons for finishing his unexpected task so quickly.

Even with the slight smile on his lips, it was as clear a dismissal if Simmons had ever heard one.  He left quickly, somewhat unnerved.

Despite the smile and the gentle, calm tone and demeanor of the Counselor there’d been something oddly cold about him all the same.  Simmons wasn’t sure what it was, but he really didn’t want to interact with him too much if he could avoid it.

On his way back to the elevators, an open door caught his attention from out of the corner of his eye and he stopped, his breath caught in his throat.

The room beyond was some sort of lounge area: chairs and tables stretched every which way, all facing the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Well, “wall” was a bit inaccurate since, similar to the ground level’s outer wall, it was made entirely out of that same translucent and unbreakable material the base used in lieu of glass for security reasons.

Since the room was obviously more for recreational purposes since there were no terminals or data-pads in sight and the door hadn’t even been programmed to shut, Simmons figured there was no harm in heading inside for a few minutes, just to take a look.

He crossed the threshold quickly before the more practical side of his brain argued that he technically didn’t have the clearance to be on this level now that he had turned over the data-pad as his hand hesitantly reached out to touch the cold surface of the window as he gazed outwards.

The sky was a clear blue today and top floor of the Mother of Invention was so far up that he could even see clouds drifting close by.  He gazed down, only seeing indiscernible shapes of green, brown, white, black, and gray: the “building blocks” of Above Ground as viewed from an impossibly high vantage.

His breath caught again and somehow he was reminded of Grif and their talk about amazing views.

…This, he mused, would definitely be one the tan boy would love to see.

A clicking electric sound filled his ears.

“So the operation is a go then?”

“Yes, in a few weeks we’re moving out.” A voice, highly distorted and sounding far away, garbled out in response to the earlier question, “Be careful, Connie.”

“…You too.”

There was a loud click as the portable communicator flicked off in a dark corner at the other side of the room.

Simmons started, not realizing that the lounge hadn’t been quite as empty as he’d first thought and that he’d unwittingly stumbled onto the tail end of what had sounded like a private conversation.  His face reddened in embarrassment and he turned to profusely apologize.

A woman in brown armor, her brown hair parted with several longer strands threatening to fall into her left eye, stepped closer and assessed him carefully with a frown on her face.  It seemed as if she was debating whether or not she wanted to ream him out for the intrusion.

Despite his hesitancy in talking to females normally, his embarrassment over what happened propelled him enough to blurt out, “I…I’m really sorry!  I didn’t—didn’t know anyone was—was here.” He looked up at her unchanging expression and continued rambling, “I—I didn’t…didn’t hear anything either…honest!”

There were a few more tense moments when she gauged his words and body language, then, to his surprise ( _and relief_ ), she smiled slightly, “Oh, don’t worry about it!  I was just saying goodbye to a friend.  He’s going on a mission soon.”

There was nothing mocking or angry in her tone or demeanor, so Simmons relaxed somewhat though he was still a bit nervous talking to someone didn’t know and a female no less!

She moved closer until they were standing only a few meters apart, an odd look crossing over her features again as she scrutinized him more.  He squirmed uncomfortably, face red, not used to that kind of attention.

But, just as suddenly, recognition fell into her eyes, “I thought you looked familiar.  You’re one of Florida’s recruits, aren’t you?” her smile widened, “The one normally in maroon armor.”

“Er…” he blinked, unsure about the sudden change of events again.  It was true he wore maroon armor, but the name she said didn’t ring a bell, “Who?”

Now it was her turn to look perplexed, “…Florida isn’t your C.O.?” she asked.

Florida?  That was another Freelancer codename, if he remembered correctly.

Simmons shook his head, grateful that the strangeness of the conversation was helping him to not get tongue-tied, “Captain Butch Flowers…is my commanding officer.”

A look of understanding flashed across her features, “Ah, so that’s what he’s calling himself for the side project.”

Simmons was starting to understand it himself now, though it seemed a bit hard to swallow, “Are you saying…Captain Flowers is a Freelancer agent?”

She nodded.

“Why…wouldn’t he say anything then?”

It seemed odd to think a Freelancer would even be remotely interested in training recruits with academy scores like he and Doc had.  There were probably an untold number of other soldier candidates who would be better fits for an elite agent right off the bat.

The woman looked at him sympathetically, “He probably thought it would be better if you didn’t know.” She tried supplying helpfully.

“I guess…” he couldn’t help the doubtful and hurt tone that crept into his voice all the same.

The woman frowned in turn, “Project Freelancer isn’t what it seems, you know.” He was surprised by the harsh element in her tone, but she moved on from it quickly, “Florida’s a decent guy, if a little odd.  He probably wanted to keep you as out of the loop with his other line of work as possible for your team’s sake.”

“But why…have a team at all?” The whole concept made little to no sense to him.

“…Maybe he just wanted to be a part of something that Freelancer wasn’t completely in control of again.” She shrugged, “I can’t say for certain, though.  Sorry.  He can be pretty quiet about his personal thoughts.”

Simmons smiled slightly, after all, he’d just learned a pretty big secret about his C.O. as well that he’d never told them before, “Tell me about it.”

She returned the gesture, though there was something oddly tired-looking about her smile when one looked at it more closely, “I’m Connecticut, by the way.  C.T. for short.”

His eyes widened at the reveal that he’d been talking to a Freelancer agent this whole time.  Never mind that Captain Flowers was one too, he hadn’t known about that until now, so it was still a bit hard to wrap his head around his friendly, sometimes all-too-lenient captain being such a soldier even if he had shown incredible knife throwing skills earlier.

She noticed the look on his face, “Relax.  It’s nothing to get worked up about, believe me.” Her smile turned rather self-deprecating, “They’ll tell you that too.  I’m on the bottom end of the ranking board.”

…He’d heard that term before, when the three Freelancers had been talking amongst themselves.  It seemed odd that such an elite group of soldiers were apparently being pitted against and compared to one another.  In his opinion, that didn’t seem like a good way to build unit cohesion.

Given the darkening look on her face, he wasn’t sure if he should risk asking for clarification.  After debating about it for a second more, he decided it was probably best to ignore the curiosity gnawing at him for the moment.

“I’m…Simmons.” Best to go for an introduction then, since she’d told him her name.  That was usually how social protocol went, right?

She cocked her head to the side, “That’s a general’s name too, isn’t it?”

He frowned, “Richard Simmons is my father.”

She raised an eyebrow at the harshness in his voice and the tense body language he suddenly had, before giving him a small smile, “Well, I guess we all have things we’re upset about.”

He nodded, grateful she wasn’t going to pry further.

Connecticut, C.T., turned her attention to the window, “It’s a great view, huh?” she said appreciatively, “I can see why you came in here for it.”

He looked out the window once more, nodding in agreement and smiling as well.

And then, before he even had a chance to realize what it was he said or how silly it would come across: “This would be an awesome spot to nap in.”

C.T. was staring blankly at him then and his face was burning.  Simmons was sorely tempted to bang his head right then and there on the window, but refrained since that would probably only make the situation worse and it would probably fucking hurt.  A lot.

Finally, she smiled again, “…I guess it would be.  There are some chairs if you want to—“

He raised his hands up to stop her, “Er…no!  That—that’s okay.  Thanks, though…I mean—“

If Grif had been here, he could picture him laughing his ass off at his predicament.  Somehow, it only made the situation worse.

“Connie, there you are!”

…Thankfully, he was saved from hyperventilating by the timely intervention of a surprisingly familiar voice.

C.T.’s face darkened once more and her expression turned to a scowl as the steel and yellow-armored figure approached them.

“Agent Washington.” Simmons was surprised at the icy tone she had when addressing her comrade.

Washington’s friendly smile faltered at this reception and he resembled for all the world a puppy who had just been kicked.

“Come on, Connie, don’t be like that.” He almost sounded close to pleading.

C.T.’s expression softened at least a little and she sighed, “…And what did I tell you about calling me Connie?  We’re not little kids anymore.  I’m C.T. now.”

…Simmons decided it was best to just keep his mouth shut on how she’d allowed someone else minutes ago to call her that nickname.  This was definitely not an exchange he wanted to get in the middle of.

“R—right, sorry.” Washington scratched the back of his head, shifting on the balls of his feet uncomfortably: “Carolina wants to see you.”

She scoffed, “You mean she saw the newest mission rankings.”

Washington looked as though he were about to reach out to grip her shoulder comfortingly, his hand wavering in the air, but then he changed his mind at her expression and let it fall back to his side in an awkward gesture, “…It wasn’t your fault.  That could have happened to any one of us.” He said consolingly.

Her eyes narrowed, “Not to her.  Not to Agent Texas.” She took in a shaky breath and it almost seemed as if tears had welled in her eyes for a second before she composed herself, “But it happens to some of us a hell of a lot more than others.”

“C.T. …”

“…Although I guess I should congratulate you on all of your recent successes, Wash.” She was moving past him now towards the door, “You’re improving so much you’ll probably make it to the other side of the rankings spectrum soon.  Then you’ll have to have to finally decide where in Freelancer you still want to stand.”

Washington said nothing to this, looking very hurt and unsure of what to do in the face of how upset his friend was.

C.T., having said her piece to him, turned to Simmons again, “It was nice meeting you, Simmons.” She said, managing to force a smile for his sake to perhaps try and lesson the sudden tension in the air for the timid outsider, “Maybe you should save the nap until later though.”

With that, she was gone, leaving him standing awkwardly with the distraught Freelancer who remained.

Washington sighed to himself, shaking his head, “First Maine, and now Connie too.  I keep getting a really bad feeling about all of this.” He mumbled.

Simmons stood silently, hoping maybe Washington wouldn’t take notice of him and he could just leave.

“Oh, uh, sorry you saw that.”

 _No such luck, damn it._   The blonde was staring straight at him with an apologetic look in his gray eyes.

“Um…it’s okay?” He tried to smile reassuringly to get this awkward moment over with, but it came across more as nervous probably.

Washington seemed emboldened by Simmons’ effort though all the same and he smiled warmly back, “Hey, I’ve seen you around base, right?” he asked, looking at him in the same thoughtful way C.T. had when they’d first met, “You’re one of Florida’s soldiers.”

…Well, no chance of a mistake on C.T.’s part there then if someone else knew Captain Flowers as Florida.  Simmons nodded.

The Freelancer seemed pleased with himself that he got it right, “What brings you up here then?”

“Um…I—I had to deliver something.” He wasn’t sure if should go into more details on that or not.

Washington seemed to understand his hesitancy at least, “This place is pretty secretive, huh?” he frowned slightly, “Sometimes it’s not quite what I expected it to be.”

Simmons was almost tempted to ask what Washington _had_ initially thought Project Freelancer would be like, but he really didn’t want to overstep any boundaries when it came to interacting with people he wasn’t really familiar with yet.

Sitting on one of the chairs nearby, Washington somehow pulled an apple seemingly out of mid-air, “…Hungry?”

The red-haired soldier shook his head, staring perplexedly at the apple and trying not to make it too obvious that he really trying to figure out exactly _how_ Washington had somehow seemed to be holding onto a piece of fruit he clearly hadn’t had anywhere near his person before.

…Maybe it was one of those things best left unexplained, regardless of how much wanted to figure it out from a logic stance.

Washington, not noticing the odd looks Simmons was now giving him, happily started munching away on his snack, “Well…if you…ever…” he was talking in between chews, “Need help…with…something…just…let…me know.”

He swallowed the last bite and grinned, somehow holding out a suddenly materialized banana to Simmons now as though he’d been worried that perhaps the only reason Simmons hadn’t wanted the other snack was because he only hadn’t wanted to eat an apple, “I’m more of a joke on the team right now, but I like helping people out with things if I can.” He explained, “And…if Florida likes you enough to train you, then that must mean you’re a pretty decent guy!”

And, despite, the bizarreness of it all ( _and man, did his brain really want to figure out where the fruit was coming from now!_ ), Simmons accepted the proffered snack this time and returned Washington’s grin with a slightly less sure one of his own.

The Freelancer was earnest and his heart was in the right place if nothing else.  It even seemed like it could be possible to be friends with him eventually, like with Doc.

…Simmons didn’t know then though just how accurate C.T.’s suspicions about Project Freelancer were, or how maybe it would have been better for Washington to have listened more to his own beginning-to-form doubts in the long run.

If he had had even an inkling of what would happen later on, Simmons would have been the one trying to give Washington the same helpful offer.

A part of him would always feel guilty that he hadn’t.

*****

A few weeks later, Captain Butch Flowers (aka Agent Florida, apparently) returned from another of his missions.

When he’d called Doc and Simmons to the training floor again, they weren’t really sure what to expect given how differently Flowers would run his unit compared to other C.O.s at the Mother of Invention.  Many of their training exercises varied quite a bit depending on what he felt most needed attention in their list of skills.

…Simmons had been more than a little apprehensive for the past few days.  There were rumors about a mishap involving Project Freelancer, and while he had seen a few agents here and there Washington was noticeably absent from the base.  Or, at least, any of the areas Simmons had clearance for.

That struck him as odd: ever since their introduction earlier, Washington had gone out of his way to greet him when they passed by each other in the halls.  He’d even opted to help him with target practice on occasion once he found out how regularly the younger soldier went there.

He couldn’t help feeling a bit uneasy that he hadn’t seen him at all recently, especially since there were so few people here he was on an even remotely friendly basis with.  But, maybe he was just on a mission like Flowers had been and wasn’t back yet.  It was hard to tell with Freelancers since their missions were always so hush-hush in general.

…Neither he nor Doc, though, were prepared to be greeted by the sight of a new team member.

“Simmons, DuFresne…I’d like to introduce you both to Leonard Church.” Flowers said in his usual light manner, “He’ll be working with you from now on.”

The man in cobalt-colored armor gave them a half-hearted wave, disinterest clearly evident in his blue eyes.  He had short black hair and a small goatee, his eyes taking in the training room fully once before settling back on the two of them again.

“Let me guess.  We’re the fucking dream team, right?” his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

…Which was totally lost on Doc, “You bet!”

Simmons felt an eye twitch and looked imploringly over at Captain Flowers for more of an explanation as to why they were getting a new member this late in the year.  He looked to be their age, so…had he been transferred from another squad then?  Given his attitude, it certainly wouldn’t have surprised Simmons if that was the case.

Flowers sighed, sending an apologetic look his way, “He doesn’t always show it, but he has the capability to be a fine soldier.”

“…So you can suck it.” Church apparently didn’t fail to see the look of disbelief crossing over Simmons’ face at that last comment from their commanding officer.

“Plus, he came with a tank.” Flowers interjected helpfully, hoping to diffuse the tension building between the two before a fight broke out.

A smirk crossed their new teammate’s face, “Sheila and I go way back so try not to piss me off and I won’t forget to tell her not to shoot at you.”

Oh, well, Simmons could tell this was going to go over fucking great already.

But his curiosity got the better of him when his mind went over to Church’s last remark, “You…call your tank Sheila?”

Church raised a black eyebrow, “Well, yeah, that _is_ her name.” he frowned in thought as if remembering something, “And she gets pretty goddamned pissed if you forget it.”

“…Your tank has a V.I.?”

He hadn’t heard of many vehicles outside of research ones having Virtual Intelligences installed on them.  Virtual Intelligences were incredibly expensive and hard to manufacture, so The Council had pretty strict regulations regarding them.  He’d never actually interacted with one himself before.

The eager, curious glint in his eyes was very obvious.

Church sighed in exasperation, “Keep it in your pants, nerd, or I won’t tell her not to shoot you.”

Simmons’ face flushed at the insult, but he glared back at Church all the same.  Church returned the gesture, with that smirk still on his face.

“Now, now, you two.  Let’s all take a step back and take deep, calming breaths.” Doc advised, trying to mediate between them.

They ignored him, still locked in their stare-off.

Flowers let out a soft sigh, but there was a smile on his face and his calm, patient demeanor he always had never left him: “…I have the feeling you men will get along just fine once things settle down.”

*****

…Only a few short months after Leonard Church’s introduction to Flowers’ squad, things ended up changing drastically.

The Insurrection, a militant rebellion group from The Slums, launched a surprisingly efficient attack on one of the power plants in Above Ground that crippled areas of the city for days.

The military reprisal ordered by The Council was quick, brutal, and effective-- though the seeds of resistance seemed impossible to stop growing completely now that those living underground knew it was possible to strike blows to the people who kept them trapped down there.

In the aftermath that followed, there was going to be war.  Lots of it.

Simmons worried about Grif and Kaikaina especially, but he knew there was nothing he or anyone could do for the people in The Slums when the orders started being given.  …Except maybe pray.

Project Freelancer nearly collapsed in on itself when one of their own became a nearly unstoppable killing machine and three others in their ranks turned traitor and defected.

And, while out on what had apparently been a routine mission that he’d done several times over with no issues or complications whatsoever, Captain Butch Flowers was killed in action.  Resistance fighters from The Slums were blamed for his death in the released reports.

Simmons barely had time to process it all before they were all dragged even more into the thick of things through an odd set of circumstances.

…He did cry himself to sleep for a few nights afterwards, though.  It was the only time he had to himself for a long while. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Remember how I said this chapter would be shorter than the previous one? Well, I guess my brain had other ideas (I like to ramble in dialogue scenes when I get the ideas for them, I swears! XD).
> 
> At any rate, more world-building and story exposition in this chapter…all from Simmons’ perspective while living in Above Ground, so I used that as an excuse to introduce several more characters we hadn’t seen previously and foreshadow what is going to happen in the next couple of parts.
> 
> …Although I feel horrible about ending the chapter like I did (wah, I love Flowers so I felt awful having to do that to him, but that’s sort of important to future plot points so I kind of had to do it, but still-- I’m so sorry, Flowers! 0_0;). Certain characters introduced in this chapter (like North, York, and Washington) will have very differing plots in future installments, so their story-lines will definitely be a little altered the next time they show up (which includes some personality changes for Washington since this was definitely more his characterization before the Epsilon incident…oh yes, there was quite a bit of meaning behind Church showing up like he does at the end of this chapter, and it definitely does involve a certain connection he has to the A.I.s 0_0;).
> 
> But next chapter will feature story points from both Above Ground and The Slums, and will introduce some more characters into the fray too.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading the fic so far, and I hope this chapter was an enjoyable read for you (even with the ending being a bit of downer, orz)!
> 
> …Also, yay for Season 12 officially starting now! I *loved* the first episode. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Four:

**The Slums**

The condensation on the metal piping collected into a small droplet of water that slowly dripped down and fell to the tunnel floor.  Grif was watching the repeated drip so closely that his eyes were threatening to cross, the voices nearby droning on and on incessantly.

Fuck, he was bored.

Tucker, standing next to him, suddenly elbowed him in the side.

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he turned to glare at his friend, “Tucker--”

But the rest of Grif’s angry remark trailed off when he saw the reason as to why his friend had interrupted his attempt to doze off where he was standing: a skill he was starting to master with aplomb, he might add.

An old man in red battle armor was glaring directly at him, fingers twitching as if he was just barely resisting the urge to grab the shotgun always strapped to his back when he wasn’t holding it.  To be honest, the guy had way too strong of an attachment to that weapon.  Grif was surprised he hadn’t given the fucking thing a name yet.

“Grif,” the man said his name in a rough-sounding voice, grimacing somewhat as if even addressing the younger man directly by name offended him horribly, “Did ya get any of that, dirt bag?”

Okay, so he was referring to the boring report meeting they’d just gone through like they did _every_ morning.  He was somewhat surprised that Sarge kept asking him that same question everyday, given how he must know what his response would be by now.

“No, not really.”

Sarge mumbled incoherently and then he was suddenly holding the shotgun.  Grif raised an eyebrow.

“Dangnabit, Grif!  Why do you even bother showing up for these things?”

“One: because you try shooting me when I skip out on them.  Two: because there’s free food.”

“…Don’t forget about the juice bar!” a blond-haired young man with an almost perpetually blank look in his blue eyes supplied helpfully from the background.

“Thanks, Caboose.” Grif shrugged and turned back to Sarge, “Three: there’s also a juice bar.”

Tucker scoffed next to him, “Yeah, some bar.  It only has one kind of juice.”

“I like orange juice the best.” Caboose interjected again.

Grif’s friend sighed, “Shut up, Caboose.”

The grimace on Sarge’s face became even more pronounced during their exchange, “You need to at least attempt to take this seriously.”

Grif frowned, not quite sure how to respond to that.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know how serious this whole thing was.  Far from it.  He’d been there when Above Ground took their retaliation on those Insurrection assholes out on The Slums.  Hell, he still had nightmares about all of the screaming he’d heard and sometimes he would wake up feeling like fire and smoke were still stealing the air from his very lungs.

He hated those assholes for it and he hated those Insurrection dicks even more.  Fortunately for them, he supposed, that they’d all pretty much died in their initial assaults on Above Ground three years ago.

Now it was just left up to the poor bastards stuck down here to deal with the aftermath of their stupidity.

But, admitting that especially to someone who had pretty much forced him to face that reality head-on when he hadn’t wanted to, well, that was pretty much impossible.

So Grif did what he did best in this type of situation.  He pretended he really didn’t give a fuck.

“Well, maybe if there was anything actually new or vital in these reports…”

While they’d been talking, a dark-skinned woman in tan and cobalt armor walked over to them.  Any remark Sarge may have had for Grif in response to his comment died away as he hastily saluted her.

Vanessa Kimball, de facto leader of what little remained of The Slums’ Resistance groups after Above Ground’s purge, ignored the gesture and regarded all three of them tiredly.

“Another problem?” she asked.

From the look on her face, she already knew what was going on.  She confirmed it by cutting off any comments from Grif or Sarge.

“You’re right, Grif.  This information is dated and we haven’t been able to gain any new intel from reconnaissance for quite awhile.  There is very little reason to keep having these meetings.” Before he could look triumphantly at the older man though, she continued, “However, some of our troops need a sense of routine and normalcy to keep them going.  The least we can do for them is this much.”

Couldn’t really argue with that logic.  He nodded his head in understanding.

“Although part of that routine now evidently includes a pool to see how long it will take for a certain fighter in orange to tune the entire thing out.” She smiled in amused exasperation, “And just how long it will take before Sarge shoots him for it.”

Sarge grinned at this line of thought, “Can I place a bet then?” he asked, lining the orange-armored soldier in his sights and chuckling.

Grif groaned, “Just kill me.”

“Grif, weren’t you even paying attention?  That was the whole point, dirt bag!”

*****

If someone had told him a couple years ago that Dexter Grif would find himself as a soldier in the Resistance, Grif would have probably laughed his ass off and asked for whatever it was that they had been smoking.

Seriously, he didn’t have the energy or time for that bullshit.  He didn’t want to shoot a gun or get shot at.  He didn’t want to leave Kai behind all on her own if something happened.  He had worked his whole life just to ensure that they had an existence that was somewhat decent: one where they were provided for but he could also nap all he wanted too.

It seemed pointless to throw that all away on a situation that wasn’t going to change, for a cause that would likely lead to a painful death and potentially just piss off a military with no qualms about killing teenage civilians they came across either.

But then those stupid Insurrection assholes went ahead and made their move.  Grif wasn’t even sure how they had managed to sneak past the security gates into Above Ground.  No one really knew, truthfully.  The group had been pretty damn secretive even amongst other Resistance cells.  They had set their explosives and charges, and people lost a whole lot more than just their power for awhile.  From what he gathered, the collateral damage had been pretty high and there were several deaths.

He tried not to think about Simmons when he had heard that.  Hell, he tried not thinking about Simmons at all anymore.

Kind of made him even _less_ eager to be in this damn war if he thought of the possibility that he might see his friend on the other side of a rifle barrel.  Even if said friend had been kind of a dick and left like he had without saying anything.

Retaliation from Above Ground was, as could be expected, swift and brutal.  It was easier for them to make it down to The Slums from the surface because they were the ones who held all of the security clearances for the gates.

They had made it clear who was to blame for what had happened in the reports they broadcasted through the information networks in The Slums, but apparently identifying the Insurrection as the culprits wasn’t going to stop Above Ground from taking out their anger on the general populace.

Grif had been there on Level One when they had started setting things on fire.  He could still hear the screams from people trapped there, burning with the junk around them.  Could still feel the heat searing his skin and the smoke burning his eyes and lungs as he somehow managed to dodge for cover and crawl through a small ventilation duct to the relative safety of the mining tunnels beyond.

To this day, he still had to fight a gagging urge when it came to smelling smoke.

He’d been lucky though, he supposed.  A lot of people who had been on Level One at the same time weren’t.

Tucker’s mom, for one.

Kai had cried so much when she had found out and Grif had felt awful when he later learned she had been visiting friends who had just been relocated to the new housing there.

He wasn’t sure what he could have done, really, given how quickly things had happened and with so many soldiers there with weapons drawn.  But if he’d been able to get to her, then maybe he could have…

_“Just fucking don’t.” Tucker had told him when he’d expressed those thoughts, his voice raw and eyes red, “We both know there wasn’t a damn thing either of us could do.”_

_Then Grif had looked at the blood, dirt, and soot covering his friend’s clothes and that was still embedded underneath his fingernails and in his hair.  He knew Tucker had tried clawing his way through a sealed-off tunnel from Level Two when he had heard about the attack-- and so he left it at that._

Tucker retreated into himself for a good long while afterwards.  He laughed and joked and flirted like always, but it was obvious from the look in his brown eyes when he didn’t think anyone was looking just how much of that was a distraction so he wouldn’t have to dwell on what had happened.

Grif would have killed those Insurrection assholes himself if they hadn’t already been killed off by then by the Above Grounders.

Naturally, things couldn’t really go back to normal after something of that magnitude.  People mourned those that were lost and how all of the work that had gone into making Level One the ideal place to be in The Slums was gone, and the Above Ground presence lingered even more over everything like an ominous cloud: _“Look at what we’ll do if even one of you pisses us off!”_

It was a long, long while before most people (Grif included) ever even ventured back to Level One.  He never even thought of going to his secret ultimate napping spot after that, terrified now of what he would see when he looked down.

_Maybe down there was where he’d always belonged and the scared little kid he’d been before had just been deluding himself._

And yet, despite the added surveillance and security from Above Ground to monitor the situation in The Slums more carefully, despite the physical and mental repercussions from what happened there still permeating the very air everyone breathed-- some people still wanted to fight.

The Resistance factions, only loosely organized before and largely peaceful beyond select groups like the Insurrection, all banded together: becoming the new targets of Above Ground’s ire once their initial outrage over what had happened dissipated in lieu of the Insurrection’s demise and the massacre of Level One.  Fighting became commonplace in the mining tunnels and corridors outside of the settlement proper, but it remained localized only to those regions and nowhere else after what had happened at Level One.

He hadn’t really understand the reasoning for why the Resistance continued to fight, but now he knew it as a strategy of sorts.  They were essentially offering themselves up as scapegoats to divert some of the newly-enforced pressure from Above Ground away from the general populace, to give them a chance to move on without worrying so much about such a tragedy happening again.

Since they weren’t invading Above Ground territory or threatening its citizens, The Council seemed content to follow more traditional combat guidelines when dealing with the Resistance fighters.  One couldn’t help but wonder how long that would last, though.

Grif didn’t really get involved with any of that shit until two years later, when both he and Tucker did something kind of really stupid.

A group of people had been harassing a blond-haired young man with big, frightened brown eyes in the park in Level Three with the Warthog ( _“Puma”_ ) statue.

At first, Grif had assumed that it was because the guy was wearing what was obviously a pink shirt, which most guys would have avoided wearing for that very reason.  Well, even if he would probably make fun of someone himself for that kind of a fashion statement if he knew them personally and they could take it, threatening them and physically harming someone over that sort of thing was not fucking cool.  At all.

So when one of the men threw a punch at the kid, Grif was there with one of his own and Tucker was right there behind him.

It wasn’t until after the group of six were down for the count and a crazy old man in red raced over to them, yelling and waving a shotgun in the air that they figured out the real reason the blonde had been harassed.

It turned out that the two of them had just unwittingly helped out a member of the Resistance.  Resistance members often tried to keep their identities as such secret for that very reason: not only would they be in trouble if Above Ground found out, but there were some Slum residents who blamed the Resistance as a whole for what the Insurrection had done and didn’t actually take too kindly to them either.

The old man, a soldier of some kind by his build and attitude, though Grif suspected he’d maybe seen one too many fights given how insane most of his viewpoints were, introduced himself simply as Sarge.  Whether or not that was his actual real name or he still just wanted to be identified as a Sergeant, no one knew for sure.  …Sarge subsequently then forced the two young men by gunpoint to meet the new leader of the Resistance forces, the blonde in the pink shirt following close behind with a literal _skip_ in his step.

Grif wasn’t sure which one of them he hated more at that point, though he wagered it was probably Sarge since the younger fighter was just insufferably annoying with his way-too-perky-for-the-situation attitude and wasn’t actually threatening him with a potential gunshot wound.

It was under those strange circumstances that they ended up meeting Vanessa Kimball.

The woman looked them both over carefully as Chipper Blonde and Sarge filled her in on what had happened.  She pointedly ignored the suggestive wink Tucker sent her way and Grif once again marveled at his friend’s innate ability to somehow not get shot for inappropriate flirting, especially when someone like Sarge was hovering around Kimball with his shotgun, harrumphing at everything and almost acting like she was his long-lost daughter-- which she was also decidedly ignoring.

He hadn’t really known what to make of the encounter until she asked why the two of them were there.

_“Why, isn’t it obvious?” the old man puffed out his chest triumphantly, “They might not look like much, but they roughed up those fellas botherin’ Donut pretty fierce.  Figured they could at least fill in body space around here.”_

_“We do need every available man we can get, ma’am.” Chipper Blonde, whose real name apparently was the inconceivably unfortunate one of Donut, said, “…And how!”_

_Both Tucker and Grif ignored that odd commentary, the train end of the conversation having taken a decidedly not ideal turn for them._

_“What?” Tucker beat his friend to the punch first, “No fucking way!”_

_Sarge’s eyes narrowed in anger, “And why in the Sam Hill not?”_

_“Because_ someone _brought us here at gunpoint, for starters.” Grif chimed in, “And if you’d told us why you were doing that in the first place we would have said ‘No.’ to begin with and everyone could have saved themselves some trouble.”_

_Kimball sighed wearily, glancing over at the grumbling old man who was now refusing to look her in the eyes._

_“…Again?” she asked him._

_“Wow, you mean he’s done this before?” Tucker let out a low whistle, “No wonder you guys are fucked when it comes to recruiting.”_

_Sarge huffed, but said nothing.  He probably knew he couldn’t argue with that, especially with his faction’s leader all but having confirmed it moments ago.  Or he was just regretting that he hadn’t shot Tucker earlier when he’d noticed him winking at Kimball._

_The woman turned to both of them with an apologetic look in her brown eyes, “I’m sorry for the trouble.  Sarge is enthusiastic when it comes to the Resistance.”_

_Grif scoffed,_ ‘That’s putting it fucking mildly.’ _He thought if that was the senile fighter’s way of trying to get people to join the fight._

_“I need to discuss some important issues with him as a result of that, however.” She motioned to what appeared to be something of a mess hall further down the corridor, “Donut can help you with anything you might need, so why don’t you get comfortable?”_

_And with that, she turned briskly and marched off in the opposite direction, Sarge muttering behind her.  Her body language was tense, through and through._

_Donut started chattering away in a friendly manner the second his two apparent seniors were gone, though Tucker and Grif both tuned him out to look at each other._

_Neither one of them had failed to notice that, despite her quick apology for Sarge’s actions, that the woman named Vanessa Kimball hadn’t dismissed them outright just then._

*****

_“Your name is Dexter Grif, correct?”_

_Grif started, having dozed off to sleep in the chair he’d sat in after Donut had left him alone.  He could still nap like a pro even in a bizarre situation like this._

_Kimball was looking down at him with a friendly, almost sympathetic look on her face.  She had two mugs of what appeared to be coffee in her hands, one of the steaming beverages held out towards him as though it were some sort of peace offering._

_He took it, groggily, glancing around to see if he could figure out what time it was.  Unlike in The Slums proper, there was no cyclic lighting in the mines to signify day and night patterns: lighting was on all the time unless there were problems in the wiring or someone turned it off manually.  It was somewhat dimmer in general though, thus why a lot of moveable auxiliary lighting was often used in combination with it, which always gave him the impression of it being later than it usually was._

_No wonder being in the tunnels drained him so much._

_Kimball seemed to be able to read his body language and the way his eyes flicked around the space, “It’s been two hours since Sarge forced you both to come here.”_

_“Uh.”_

_She looked embarrassed, “Sorry it took so long to get back to you.”_

_He took a sip of the coffee.  It tasted horribly bitter, but at least it was hot._

_“It’s terrible, but I’m addicted to the stuff now.” She supplied helpfully after seeing his expression.  It looked like she probably drank it all the time just to stay awake if the dark circles under her eyes were any indication._

_“How’d you know my name?” he asked as his faculties finally started lining up again, “I don’t remember that Sarge guy ever bothering to ask.”_

_“Your friend Tucker told me.” She sat down across from him and was staring at her mug resting on the table surface intently, “We had a chat earlier.”_

_Speaking of Tucker…  Grif glanced around the makeshift mess hall, but couldn’t see his friend anywhere.  The place was nearly deserted: there were only a few Resistance fighters milling about aside from Donut who was still practically skipping to and fro out of the corner of his eyes._

_Beyond Donut, who he swore if they could probably find a way to bottle some of his excess perkiness then caffeine sales would probably drop, there was a very obvious fatigue running through the people here.  It made sense, he supposed, given all that they were going up against._

_It certainly made it harder to converse with Kimball though, realizing that.  The exhaustion on her face was practically palpable and looked even worse than what he saw in her troops._

_“Tucker wanted some time alone.” Kimball seemed to be trying to choose her words carefully, “He asked if I could speak to you first.”_

_And just like that, the wheels turned.  Grif forced himself to look her in the eyes and see the pointed seriousness in them._

_There could only be one reason Tucker would do something like that.  Suddenly, that lost and sad expression that he had seen in his friend’s eyes ever since his mother had been killed filled his head with a vicious sort of clarity._

_“He signed up.”_

_It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.  He didn’t really need to even see Kimball’s nod of affirmation to confirm it._

‘That fucking asshole.  He’s going to get himself killed!’

_“It’s his decision, Grif, even if you’re upset with it.” Kimball reached out to grasp her coffee mug between both hands, “All of us who sign up for the Resistance know exactly what we’re getting into.  We just have our own reasons for doing so.”_

_He let out a strangled kind of noise, almost like laughter that he’d choked back on, “Oh, believe me, I have a pretty good idea what his reasoning is.  Still doesn’t mean I won’t deck him for it.”_

_She smiled grimly, “Good.  Perhaps that will give him a little more time to think things over and really be sure this is what he wants to do.”_

_Well, at least she didn’t threaten to shoot his ass for threatening a new soldier to the cause.  He was sort of surprised by that, truthfully._

_“So, why talk to me about any of this though?”_

_Kimball sighed, “While I don’t agree with Sarge’s methods when it comes to potential candidates, I can’t deny that our numbers are lessening by the day and we’re in desperate need of more fighters in general.”_

_Grif sipped his coffee since it seemed like she had more to say.  He knew what the lead-up was heading towards and how he would respond besides._

_“You both showed a lot of potential by helping Donut as you did and I thank you for that.” She paused, raising her mug to her lips and regarding him carefully over its rim, “So I am asking you officially as the leader of the Resistance for your help.”_

_He frowned, “Listen, lady, I respect what your group is trying to do here.” And he did, truly, because, let’s face it, Above Ground was populated by a bunch of heartless dicks and it took a whole lot more balls than he would ever have to intentionally seek out their attention to keep them away from other people, “And I understand why Tucker joined.  I think he’s a suicidal fucktard and I’ll tell him that the next time I see him, but I understand it.”_

_Now she was the one waiting patiently for him to finish._

_“But if you think I’m going to get myself killed in some pointless fighting, you can just think again.”_

_He stood up from the table then and turned to leave.  Maybe he could find Tucker now and give the idiot a piece of his mind for good measure._

_“You’re raising your little sister all by yourself, aren’t you?”_

_Kimball’s voice when she spoke up was soft and he’d barely heard it.  He whipped his head around, prepared to yell at her for dragging Kai into her argument and wanting so much more now to find Tucker and smack him upside the head for being a blabbermouth on top of an idiot to boot, but the genuine sympathy and thoughtfulness in her gaze made him stop in his tracks._

_“Having that kind of responsibility…” she paused, gripping her mug again as if for warmth, “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to get involved with us.  And why Tucker would, given what happened.”_

_He said nothing and Kimball’s gaze and tone were both even when she continued once more: “Don’t you want to ensure that you’re in the best possible position to protect her though, if Above Ground decides to change their stance on The Slums once more?”_

_And with that, she fell silent and drank her coffee again._

_Grif left, unnerved somewhat by the effect her words had on him, by the doubt that suddenly started to creep into his resolve to not get involved._

It probably wasn’t too surprising then that he signed up himself for the Resistance two weeks later.

Though he did still punch Tucker the next time he saw him and called him a dumbass.

Tucker’s only response was to grin and give him the finger.  They both acknowledged how stupid they were being, but at least they’d be idiots together for what little it was worth.

*****

“Are you sleeping _again_ , fat ass?”

Tucker’s comment elicited a yawn from his friend and an upraised middle finger, which was promptly grasped by a tiny hand with only four long digits.

“Blargh!” a small voice cried near his face.

 _That_ got Grif’s attention.  His brown eyes opened quickly from his dream-reminiscence.  It seemed horribly dumb to recap all the shit he already knew instead of dreaming about beer or Old Earth animals like dinosaurs or something else more entertaining in general, but what could he do?  It probably was a sign he shouldn’t eat snack cakes he found on the floor anymore, even if they’d had very little dirt on them and still tasted good.  He nearly jumped up from his napping spot in the back of an old mining shaft not having expected the teal and blue creature’s presence.

“Jesus, Tucker!  You brought your kid?”

His friend frowned, looking down at the alien child with a guilty expression on his face, “I had to.  Kai’s off doing something and no one else I know wants to babysit.  Except Donut, but since he’s here…” he shrugged and let his sentence just trail off.

“So it’s Take Your Alien Kid to Work Day?” he joked, because, really, the only way Grif knew how to deal with that fucked up situation was through joking.

How does one generally go about processing that the resistance group you joined found what was probably the only surviving alien on the planet which somehow led to your friend having a magic glowing energy sword of some sort of sacred alien origin imprint on him, only for said surviving male alien to impregnate that friend without saying anything ( _that anyone could understand, at any rate_ ) and subsequently get killed by Above Grounders because for whatever reason they decided surviving aliens should be killed instead of studied?

He was pretty sure there was no code or protocol for that kind of shit in proper military channels.  Or even any afterschool specials on the topic from Old Earth.  Or greeting cards, because Donut had to make his own for the occasion: a little too glittery for Tucker’s taste, but the kid’s heart was in the right place.

“It is probably better than Take Your Teenaged Sister to Work Day was for you, isn’t it?”

Leave it to Tucker though to take it all in stride.  In actuality, he wasn’t that bad of a parent when all was said and done: it was obvious he loved Junior and vice-versa, and that was all that really counted in Grif’s book.

“Thanks for the reminder.” Grif groaned, wishing he could wipe that memory clean from his brain one day.

After that whole fiasco, he’d pretty much forbidden Kai to go anywhere near the tunnels.  Which subsequently led to her usual “You suck!” exchange, though she got over it quickly enough since the one thing Kaikaina excelled at was being able to have fun anywhere.  Grif just wished her idea of fun didn’t always result in police visits and headaches for him in particular later on down the road.

“You know me, always happy to put things in perspective.”

Grif groaned again and stood up, deciding it was best to not comment on that _or_ think about what his little sister was doing that meant she didn’t want the extra babysitting money Tucker gave her for watching Junior.  Kai was pretty self-sufficient now for all of her wild ways, so he knew she could take care of herself in most situations, but the “wild ways” portion of that last sentence would still always worry him.

“Is there a reason you were interrupting my naptime or did you just want to talk?” he looked down at Junior, who was twisting his head from side to side, looking at the exchange, “You know I’m not the best with kids.”

No, he had done an okay job raising Kai but that was only because he’d sort of had to.  Given how she acted sometimes he knew a lot of people would say he hadn’t done a great job of it, but she was happy and healthy, and knew how to look after herself when push came to shove even if her common sense was next to nil.  Plus, she was way more properly adjusted than most people who grew up in their situation would be, so those assholes could shove it.

Tucker scoffed, “The last thing I need is for him to be on an all-cookie diet.  He’s hyper enough as it is!”

“Blargh!” Junior enthusiastically agreed, his little jump proving his father’s ( _mother’s?_   Grif wasn’t honestly sure how you would classify Tucker to Junior given the how bizarre his birth was) point fairly well.

“It’s a perfectly healthy eating style.”

“Please, I’m amazed you can even walk in that armor without breaking into a sweat.”

Okay, well, he actually couldn’t walk in his armor without breaking into a sweat, but Grif figured it probably wouldn’t be helpful to let Tucker know that.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t getting better though.  He could move a lot farther now without totally getting winded, which he supposed was sort of a win.  At least the one thing fighting in this damn war did was help him stay a little more fit, which meant he could eat his fill of unhealthy food.  Not that he wouldn’t have done it anyways, but at least he could do it without as much guilt-- he was a guilt eater on top of it all too, so it really was something of a vicious, ironic cycle.

Well, he assumed it was “ironic” at any rate: he had never quite figured out what that word really meant.

“Donut was looking for you.”

He sighed, “Of course he was.”

Leave it to fate that he ended up getting put in a squad under the direct command of Sarge and with Donut.

Truthfully, he didn’t have too many issues with Donut.  He was actually a pretty nice guy who tried to get along with everyone, but his cheerfulness could be a bit over-the-top and his can-do attitude wasn’t the most fitting for Grif’s general can’t-really-be-bothered-to-do-anything one.  It just generally meant Grif had a hard time being in the same room with him for more than ten minutes because of that.

“Would you rather have my teammate?” Tucker joked.

Grif let out another sigh again.  He did suppose having Donut as a teammate was slightly better than having Caboose for one.

At least Donut could aim and his throwing arm was incredible: just don’t get him started on his “tosses” and you’d be fine.  Caboose, well, beyond being harmless for the most part as well as clueless, had the nasty habit of somehow causing machinery to inexplicably catch on fire just by touching it or inadvertently somehow shooting his teammates whenever he _did_ try to help.

Grif wasn’t quite sure why he had decided to join the Resistance, beyond Caboose’s recollection of the “nice lady” (Kimball) helping him out when he’d had nowhere to go.

From what they could gather, Caboose was actually one of the people often dubbed “Throwaways”: a former citizen of Above Ground that was exiled into The Slums for whatever reason.  From the childlike way Michael J. Caboose acted, Grif supposed there wasn’t room for him amongst the “elite, productive” thinkers.

It was kind of depressing to think on that though, so he didn’t.  At least Kimball had decided to be nice to the poor kid and give him some semblance of a home away from any large pieces of construction equipment in the settlement proper he could catch on fire.

“Did Donut say what he wanted?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t that Sarge had tasked Donut with finding him for some inane assignment.  Usually those involved having an excuse to get Grif into a position to get shot at, which he wasn’t too keen on.

“No clue, but he said it was important.”

Which could mean that something extremely vital was happening involving Above Ground activities in the tunnels or that Donut’s new paint swatches had just come in: _“Come on, Grif, I know we’re living in tunnels and caves right now, but the right color accent can really brighten things up!”_

Fuck it.

He let out another sigh, turning to exit the tunnels and sort of hoping it was more on the interior design side of the spectrum.

*****

“Oh, good, you found him!” Donut’s cheerful voice seemed audible no matter how far away from someone he actually was.

In this case, it was from across the mess hall and Grif had to wince at the loud greeting which was followed by Donut waving his arm enthusiastically over his head as if there was any chance that they would miss someone wearing pink armor like he was.  Already he was drawing massive amounts of attention from everyone in the room.

One of whom was a woman with red hair cropped just above her shoulders and a face that was either usually expressionless ( _seriously, it was almost as if someone was talking to a mannequin at times_ ) or extremely pissed off, that he _really_ hoped wouldn’t approach them.

“I mean, I would have thought I could have found him first in whatever hole he was hiding away in.” Donut seemed oblivious to the attention he was receiving, all too happy to chat away, “I am an expert when it comes to looking into holes, you know.”

Grif groaned, “Donut, we talked about this before, remember?  What did I tell you?”

“Um,” the younger soldier paused, face scrunched up in thought, “That I should always stop talking a sentence before I usually do?”

“Yes.  Or try not talking at all.” He could already hear the snickering starting up.

“Aw, but that’s no fun!  How would you know what I’m going to say then?”

“He has a point there.” Tucker chimed in, looking amused at the exasperated look on his friend’s face, “How _would_ we know?”

“Thanks, Tucker!  I always know you’re behind me!”

Tucker’s expression changed from amusement at Grif’s reaction to Donut’s innocent innuendo habit to being a little put off at it being directed at him, “Then again, silence _is_ golden.”

“So, what did you need, Donut?  Did Sarge want me for one of his suicidal strategies again?”

Seriously, he knew that there was talk about how Sarge had apparently served in the Above Ground military before showing up down here, but Grif sort of had his doubts about that after the fifteenth “have Grif run out onto the battlefield and draw enemy fire for twenty minutes or so until they’re out of ammo” strategy he’d come up with.

Unless Sarge had been shipped down to The Slums because he was insane.  He supposed he could buy that take on the theory, if nothing else.

Franklin Delano Donut frowned and looked suddenly very sheepish, avoiding Grif’s gaze.

In a lot of ways, Grif supposed he could almost look at his relationship with Donut now in a similar way to the one he had with his sister.  It didn’t hurt that Donut was only one or two years older than Kai and probably even more girly.  Grif liked him well enough, he just often found himself horribly annoyed and exasperated by some of the things Donut said and did in the same way he often felt with Kai.

It had helped lessen his annoyance somewhat early on in their forced comradeship under Sarge’s command that he found out the reason as to why such a generally easy-going nice guy like Donut had gotten involved in the fighting: he had grown up in a somewhat comfortable, very loving and accepting home in Level Two.  As a result of the proximity of the levels, he’d lost several people he cared about during Above Ground’s retaliation raid.  Knowing that had helped Grif’s disposition soften towards him.

“This isn’t about something Sarge wants or paint swatches, is it?”

Before Donut could respond, a harsh-sounding voice cut in, “Afraid not.  I asked him to get you.”

The red-haired woman he’d been afraid to even look at earlier glanced disinterestedly at both him and Tucker when she moved closer, “Both of you morons, actually.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Tucker muttered under his breath.

Grif’s hands instinctively went to protectively shield his balls at her sudden proximity, although he didn’t know why.  It wasn’t like the fucking cone had done anything to shield them the last time so what would his hands do?

“Tucker, not in front of the b-a-b-y!” Donut admonished, putting his hands over where he thought Junior’s ears would be on the sides of his oddly shaped head.

“What does spelling out ‘baby’ do, exactly?” Grif asked him in mild confusion.

“Yeah, besides, that little guy is Tucker’s kid.” A tan-armored man joined the exchange, his one good eye looking highly amused, “I bet he’s heard a hell of a lot worse than that growing up!”

“And how!” Tucker frowned a moment later, suddenly getting what he’d just said, “Hey, wait!”

Junior decided it was his turn to get his two cents in at this point, “Bow-chicka-honk-honk!”

His father ( _mother?_ ) sighed, “You’re so not helping, Junior.”

The woman in black waited through this exchange with a surprising amount of patience for her.  However, she apparently thought Tucker’s final comment was a good stopping point.

“Don’t encourage them, York.” She said pointedly to the brown-haired man before turning back to Tucker and Grif, “Are you both done?”

Tex, formerly known as Agent Texas and apparently a big badass extraordinaire super soldier from some really fucking high-end military program in Above Ground called Freelancer, was, generally speaking, not someone you wanted to piss off.  …Or even look at, lest she take it as some form of a challenge.

She and two other Freelancers had shown up at the doors of the Resistance shortly after Grif and Tucker had joined.  All three were injured and looking like they’d been through hell to get there.  One of them, a man in violet armor called North, had been the worse off: someone had shot him from behind and he’d been on the verge of bleeding out.  Tex had literally been carrying him across her shoulders.

They were strangers wearing Above Ground military equipment.  Yes, all of the Resistance fightrs wore it too but theirs were cobbled together from whatever was salvageable after a battle.  Grif really didn’t want to dwell on how so much of his equipment was pilfered from dead people.  The three Above Grounders were bound to not get a friendly welcome at first. 

…Which resulted in Agent Texas handing off care of their more injured comrade to the man in the tan armor, York, and subsequently kicking the asses of several platoons before Kimball was able to properly get the situation under control.

Since Tex was well and properly ticked off by that point a flirtatious remark from Tucker afterwards had gotten him slammed into a metal wall and a comment from Grif about needing to learn to chill had resulted in a still very-painful-to-remember punch to the balls.

Sarge had made an almost awe-sounding comment about how she must be some strange combination of man, an Old Earth animal called a shark, and some sort of cyber-shark.

It was one of the few comments from the old man that Grif was inclined to agree with.

Ever since then, his instinctive reaction to Tex seemed to always mildly amuse the woman if nothing else.

So it made sense, then, that when the three ex-Freelancers wanted to sign up for the Resistance there were no protests despite the wariness on whether or not they could be trusted completely.  Apparently, whatever they’d discussed in private with Kimball and Sarge seemed to convince the two leaders that they were genuine at least, though what that was exactly no one else really knew.

Both York and North seemed pretty decent and easygoing besides, ingratiating themselves pretty well with everyone once they had joined up and North was healed.  Their combat skills, while not on the same level as Tex’s, were nothing to sneeze at either: well above and beyond what most of the soldiers in the Resistance were capable of.  Well, as much as people with no military background to speak of could even be considered soldiers.  Even with the fact that North never fully recovered from his injury and he’d lament how he couldn’t move around as quickly as he used to with a wry self-deprecating smile on his face, his skills as a sniper were still second-to-none.

Tex, on the other hand, generally remained unapproachable and most gave her a wide berth.  She got along well enough with Kimball it seemed, and with York and North given their shared past (he supposed choosing to defect like they did for whatever reason would cause a sort of kinship to form between people), but she usually only tolerated everyone else-- and not for too long if they tried her patience.

But the three of them joining up had definitely helped the fighting in the corridors be less one-sided than it had been before, something Grif was grateful for.

“Your teammate went missing in Tunnel 32-A a few hours ago.” Tex informed Tucker.

He looked nonplussed, “Caboose?  He wanders off all the time.  He’ll be back.  He probably thought he found something shiny.”

“32-A had been used to house some very high-grade military tech from Above Ground when they came through here during the last mining skirmishes over twenty years ago.”

Tucker’s face paled slightly and he exchanged a look with Grif.

Caboose plus heavy machine or tech of any kind generally resulted in an inferno of some kind.  Even Donut had long since stopped trying to teach him how to use the stove.  He had cried at the thought of having to pencil in his eyebrows until they finally grew back.

“If you’re so worried about this, why not tell Kimball?  Or go find him yourself?”

Tex fixed Grif with an icy glare, causing him to let out a small “Eep!” and shield his crotch again.

Instead of retaliating, she let out a tired sigh, “Kimball has enough on her damn plate trying to keep you idiots alive as it is.  And Caboose is scared of me.” She almost smiled slightly at that, “He calls me the ‘mean lady’ and refuses to get anywhere near me.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Tucker muttered under his breath.

Grif moved away from him slightly and Donut did the same while gripping Junior’s hand to push him along too just in case Tex decided to react to that comment.

Thankfully for Tucker, Tex ignored his sarcasm this time.  That sort of proved just how serious she was treating this matter.

“But he trusts you morons, so I figured you’d be my best bets to get him out of there without incident.”

“And preferably without getting anyone barbecued.” Grif filled in.

She nodded, “That too.”

“Sarge’s robot is already standing watch at the tunnel’s entrance in case something happens.” York told them.

So, Lopez was involved too.

Lopez was a humanoid robot Sarge had built for…well, whatever reason it was that Sarge decided to do anything.  He was an efficient worker whenever he did stuff, but Sarge had somehow “ingeniously” programmed him to speak a language called Spanish that no one here could speak or understand save Donut, apparently, but he wasn’t sure his translations were horribly accurate.

Lopez seemed about as keen on his creator as Grif was, though, so Grif sort of suspected his involvement didn’t come so much from concern for the situation as it did probably from having an excuse to be away from Sarge.

Not that Grif could blame him on that front, and while he honestly would prefer doing nothing instead himself, he supposed this would be better than if Sarge had him doing some hare-brained scheme involving grenade-catching again.

And, generally speaking, it was probably just smarter in the long run to agree to do whatever Tex wanted for your own health.

“What about Junior, though?” it seemed Tucker had the same thought, but understandably he wasn’t as keen on bringing his kid into a potential danger zone, especially not with Caboose there.

York patted his shoulder understandably, “Don’t worry, we’ll drop the little guy off with North before we head out.” He shared a look with Tex, an odd expression clouding over his face, “He’s great with kids.”

*****

The entrance to Tunnel 32-A was in a myriad maze of mining tunnels and corridors even farther away from The Slums proper than the tunnels and shafts that served as the makeshift base for the Resistance were.

Grif was honestly surprised that Caboose would wander this far on his own or that Tex even knew about it in the first place.  Judging from the expression on her face, though, asking her to elaborate on the situation would probably result in either silence or a face-slam into the ground.

Better not to risk it.

Eventually, the brown-colored armor belonging to the robotic Lopez came into view.  He turned around to face them.

“Oh, bueno. Más de ti.” _{“Oh, good.  More of you.”}_ His voice had a filtered, monotone quality to it.

“Oh, hey, Lopez!” Donut waved cheerfully, “What’s up?”

“Oh, Dios, que tenía que llevar el rosa con usted.” _{“Oh, God, you had to bring the pink one with you.”}_

He couldn’t be positive, but Grif was almost certain the robot had groaned-- or whatever it was robots did that was the mechanical equivalent of a groan.

“It _is_ a fine day, isn’t it?  Perfect for an adventure.”

“Te lo ruego: por favor dejar de hablar a mí.” _{“I am begging you: please stop talking to me.”}_

Tex marched right past Lopez, ignoring the talk, more like miscommunication, between Donut and him.  She peered out into the dim recess of the tunnels beyond, a frown on her face.

“Doesn’t seem like he’s returned.”

“But there’s no smoke and no one’s shouting ‘Tucker did it!’ yet, so that’s good, right?” Tucker tried lightening the mood.

“Unless he got injured somewhere.” York frowned, “Who knows if parts of this tunnel are all that stable?”

“And we still have to go in there after him, huh?” Grif frowned himself, jumping slightly at any imaginary change in the shadows filtering through the place.

“There aren’t any bats, fat ass.” Tucker scoffed at him, earning a _shut your fucking mouth_ glare from his friend.

“Let’s move before he does something stupid and gets himself killed.”

With that cheery thought, Tex strode forward and into 32-A.  York sighed, shot sympathetic looks to the others, and shrugged before following after her.

“Si ninguno de ustedes vuelva, yo no estoy diciendo a nadie.” _{“If none of you come back, I’m not telling anyone.”}_

“Thanks for the pep-talk, Lopez!”

“En serio, sólo tiene que ir ya.” _{“Seriously, just go already.”}_

*****

“I’m just saying, what’s the worst that could be down here?”

York seemed to be mentally ticking things off from a list in his head in response to Tucker’s question, “Oh, lots of things: weapons, explosives, giant mechs--”

“Which would all be bad if Caboose got his hands on them.” The teal-armored soldier finished, hand subconsciously going to the sword hilt at his side as it often did now whenever he was feeling nervous.

A pause and then the former Freelancer smiled slightly, “Yes, Tucker, that would be very bad.”

“So why didn’t the Above Grounders take this shit out of here with them when they left or disable it somehow?  Or try to seal the goddamned tunnel?”

Tex answered from further up ahead, “There were complications in the last skirmish.”

Grif raised an eyebrow, “You mean from bombing unarmed miners?” he asked incredulously.

She sighed, “Records are classified from that time, but the miner protests really weren’t the main reason the army moved in.  It was just a convenient excuse and a chance for some assholes to flex their muscles.”

“So what was the actual reason all those people died then?” Donut’s voice sounded lost and sadder than what was normal for him.  Not that Grif could blame him: hearing about the more brutal side to war and politics would leave a bitter taste in anyone’s mouth.

She stopped and glanced backwards at Tucker, “That’s a nice sword you’ve got there.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he did not seem pleased at this revelation, “You mean they were a bunch of assholes for some stupid alien relic only one person can even use and they didn’t even get it?”

“I’m sure they found lots of interesting things to occupy their time with and to make the whole thing worthwhile in the end, don’t worry.” She reassured him in a mocking tone, “Why do you think they were so eager to fall back to the surface if their only opposition was a bunch of defenseless Slum dwellers?”

“If that information is classified, how did you find out about it?” Grif wondered just how high up in the food chain that meant Freelancers were.

York seemed to read the real meaning behind his question easily enough, “Believe me, we were told _nothing_ about _anything_ going on behind the scenes with The Council and the military.” There was a surprising amount of bitterness in his voice at that for a guy as easy-going and friendly as York tended to be, and he shared yet another secretive look with Tex.

“That information came from a friend.” She supplied enigmatically in turn.

“Who?”

It was probably a moot point to ask, but Grif figured ‘what the hell?’ at this point.

“Someone you don’t need to know about.”

Well, at least it wasn’t a punch to the crotch.

“At any rate, I’m assuming that even though they left in a hurry they no doubt followed standard military protocol and probably tried dismantling or disabling everything they couldn’t bring back with them when the order came in.”

“But there’s always the chance they overlooked something, right?” York concluded for her.

She nodded, “Human error and stupidity have to always be factored in.”

“And knowing Caboose’s dumb luck, he’ll probably stumble upon the one active piece of tech left in the place.” Tucker muttered, “Probably blowing us all up with it.”

Another nod.  Tex was on a roll with interacting with people today.

He sighed, “Fucking great.”

Donut wasted no time cupping his hands around his mouth following that and shouting, “Caboose!  _Caboose!_   Where are you?”

Grif half-heartedly chimed in with, “Come on out and we’ll get you a pony!”

“Dude, you tried that the last couple of times, remember?  He’s dumb, but he’s figured out by now that we don’t have ponies here.” Tucker told him, “You have to come up with something else to bribe him with.”

And, to illustrate his point, he shouted out, “We have crayons!”

There was silence for a long while following that, and the faint lighting in the corridor blinked ominously.

Tex signaled that they should move on, since odds were good Caboose was out of ear range wherever he was.

But then the ground started to noticeably shake and Donut let out a high-pitched shriek when a couple of small rocks became loose from the ceiling and fell on his shoulder.

The others tensed, clasping their helmets on if they already hadn’t done so and looking around nervously while bracing for a potential collapse.  Armor could keep you alive for awhile if your helmet was on and properly working, but it didn’t amount to shit if someone didn’t come to dig you out soon enough.

“Crayons!  I love to color.  I can use them to draw a pony!”

And suddenly Caboose was there, grinning from ear to ear with his blue helmet under his arm.

“Caboose, what the fuck?” Tucker was racing forward with an anxious expression on his face.  Tucker said a lot of stuff about Caboose at times in exasperation, but the last thing he wanted to see was his simple-minded teammate get hurt, “This place is going to cave in!  Get your helmet on, moron!”

The grin never left Caboose’s face, innocent blue eyes regarding Tucker in amusement, “Oh, silly Tucker, that isn’t the tunnel.  That’s just my new best friend coming to say hello!”

 _That_ gave Tucker pause and out of the corner of his eye Grif could see Tex bringing out one of her guns.  They were used to Caboose not making sense, but this one was on a whole other level.

“New best friend?” Tucker repeated and frowned, “You mean like a dog or something?”

“It would have to be the biggest damn dog I’ve ever seen.” York mumbled, looking a little disconcerted that the shaking was intensifying still and not lessening.

“A dog.  Yes!” Caboose’s smile brightened even more than one would think was possible considering how wide it had already been to begin with, “That is what he is.”

He turned his head back to the darkened space he’d just emerged from, “Come on, Freckles, say hello to everyone!”

Nothing.  The shaking suddenly stopped too.

“Oh, he is very shy.” Caboose said in way of explanation for this, “Freckles, come here.  My friend Pastry will play fetch with you.”

Donut perked up at this, no longer fearful himself in light of Caboose’s demeanor, “That would be fun!  I’m great at tossing!”

York looked over at Grif, “Um, he means throwing things, right?”

“God, I hope so.”

Tucker sighed, “Caboose…” he began.

“COMING.”

And just as the booming, electrical voice filled the air the slight shaking commenced again and a giant, robotic form seemed to swallow the entirety of space right behind the blue-armored young man.

“Holy shit.” York’s commentary was to the point, but all too accurate.

And Grif had to kick himself for the first coherent thought flooding into his head again a few moments later being _‘I bet Simmons would love to see this thing.’_

Caboose smiled, oblivious to the shocked looks on everyone’s faces, “This is Freckles.  See, Tucker, now I have a dog too!”

Tucker got over his shock enough to groan, “For the last time, Caboose, Junior isn’t my dog.  He’s my kid!  Don’t insult family.”

Tucker’s point seemed lost on Caboose given the blank look that crossed over his face, “Mine can do tricks.”

“Oh, for the love of…”

“He can speak too!” Caboose turned back over to the walking metallic death monstrosity, “Freckles, say hello to everyone.  They are all nice people, even the mean lady.”

York snickered, promptly cutting it off at the glare that earned him from Tex.

“HELLO.”

“Do the little dance I taught you, Freckles!  It will look so cute once I find you a tiny hat.”

Grif sighed, feeling like his brain was about to explode.  Maybe it already had and that was why he’d thought about Simmons again after trying so hard _not_ to.

He honestly couldn’t tell if he preferred this to an inferno.

Still, it probably beat one of Sarge’s “strategies,” all in all.

*****

**Above Ground**

He saw Captain Flowers first, his body mangled and lying broken on the outskirts of the city ( _hated that he’d never gotten the chance to ask him_ “Why?” _to so many things_ ).

Then he saw his mother: lying peacefully in her bed ( _hated that he’d been away when it happened, hated that she’d never told him how serious it was, hated how uncaring his father acted in the face of it all_ ).

Then he saw The Slums _burning_ , could make out figures that could have been either Kaikaina or Grif getting dragged and shot ( _hated that he would never know for certain what happened to them, hated that he hadn’t stayed longer, hated that he still wasn’t sure about some things_ ).

It played on in an endless loop in his head, the newfound pain all over his aching body making it worse.

“Private Simmons!”

No wonder he woke up screaming then, his throat just as raw and bloody as the rest of him felt.

The only thing that kept him from launching himself up from the medical bed was the strong pressure pushing firmly down on his shoulders.

For a minute he panicked, his last thoughts being of _fire_ and _Grif_ , not sure of where he was.  But the metallic green visor swimming in his line of vision helped him to somewhat clear his thoughts.

“Please do not move around so much.  Your body needs time to adjust.” Sheila’s polite voice informed him.

When she was fairly certain that he was no longer going to be thrashing around, Sheila removed her hands.  The robot settled down once more in the chair next to his bedside.

“I know it is not always advisable to rouse patients recovering from surgery, but I was worried you would hurt yourself.” She said in way of explanation.

“Th—thanks, Sheila.”

There had been many changes in his life since the Insurrection’s attack on Above Ground.  Some a lot more drastic than others.  Captain Flowers’ death early on in the fighting that followed with the Resistance (though Simmons was still unsure of how Flowers’ body had been found in Above Ground if the records stated that Resistance fighters had killed him, but any of his attempts at inquiring further left nothing but dead ends), his mother’s passing and now his surgery being some of the more major ones.

By comparison, the transfer of Sheila the Tank’s Virtual Intelligence to a robotic body to provide more support during missions was a fairly minor one, but it still unnerved him all the same.  She appeared now to be simply a fully armored soldier like any other ( _“gunmetal green and grey” she would always describe her colors as with that “friendly smile” tone to her voice_ ), though take off the armor and all that was there were wires and circuitry wrapped around a metal skeletal frame.  It was a bit odd, to say the least, especially when she spoke without her helmet on.

He’d had issues conversing with her even as a tank as her voice was very feminine and pleasant, which meant his “can’t really talk to females without getting flustered” rule had still applied even then, much to his embarrassment.  So, at the very least, he supposed that that hadn’t gotten any worse.  He actually felt somewhat okay with talking to her now, since they’d worked together in one capacity or another over the years.

“You’re very welcome.” She regarded him for a few moments, as if debating trying to say anything further.

His body hurt.  He grimaced, his head pounding and joints aching.

Fuck, and he had seen the charts too: he _knew_ he was on some pretty potent painkillers.

“It’s a lot to adjust to, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” Simmons winced, desperately trying to avoid tearing up.  Not only because it would be horribly embarrassing, which it would be, but because his right eye was _burning_ and he didn’t know what would happen if he started to cry because of it.

_‘Probably nothing, you don’t have a tear duct in that eye anymore, remember?’_

Right, but he didn’t have lungs anymore either yet his body was still straining itself to draw breath into a nonexistent organ and subsequently going into panic mode at the realization that it couldn’t and that that _wasn’t normal_.

He didn’t have a heart either, but remembering that dream still had him feeling like it was being pulled from his chest all over again.

His limbs, where muscle and bone connected to metal and wiring, were in a special sort of electric agony.

And, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say he simply repeated “Uh-huh” again-and-again like an idiot.

“The synthetic epidermal layer over the metallic components looks almost flesh-like.” Sheila said in way of conversation, “People will know what happened, but you won’t probably get the gawking I do when I strip for maintenance.”

“Uh-huh.” He knew she was only trying to keep him calm, to keep him from dwelling on the pain and on the _‘Oh shit, I’ve really fucked up’_ line of panicked thinking he was having now.

“May I ask why you agreed to the experiment?”

He paused from his inner turmoil then, not having expected that line of direct questioning.  Sheila was staring at him.

“I was merely curious because I was surprised you would volunteer for cybernetic enhancements.” She looked down to her hands in her lap, “I agreed to the transfer of my Virtual Intelligence to this body only because I wished to support you and Church in the field and my previous body’s size made that problematic at times.”

Right, because the “field” in this case meant underground.

“You don’t have to answer though, Private Simmons.”

“Er…”

What could he say, really?  That he’d volunteered because he hadn’t been satisfied with his work as a soldier and that he had hoped cybernetic enhancements would help?  That he’d done it because the only person who would have probably objected to it had died earlier?  That maybe crossing over a barrier and entering a territory where some wouldn’t even consider him human anymore (sixty-five percent metal and wire and fake skin: odd to put it into that kind of perspective) was some weird way to distance himself from his grief, from the one living relation he couldn’t even look at anymore?

It was hard to put it into words, and now it seemed stupid and childish and _he couldn’t take it back_ …

Thankfully, the door slid open at that exact moment and saved him from having to respond at all.

He was slightly less thankful to see that the person who stepped inside was Leonard Church, though the early animosity that had shown between them had dissipated to quiet disinterest more or less over the years.  He thought it had something to do with Flowers’ death, perhaps: Church hadn’t been on the team as long as he and Doc had, but he had genuinely seemed to respect their captain.  Losing someone they had both admired sort of set up a begrudging rapport between the two of them, if nothing else.

“Is the idiot awake yet?” he asked, knowing damn well he was because he stared directly at Simmons when he said it.

“Wishing I wasn’t.” Simmons’ muttered through gritting teeth.

“Yeah, well, cybernetics hurt like hell.  You should’ve done your research before you volunteered, nerd.”

Simmons glared at that, for the first time noticing the dual vision he now had: one was the vision he always had from his perfectly functional green eye, and the other gave a slight red tint to everything-- complete even with a soft “glow” around the computers and machinery in the room.  Simmons knew the eye had other functions as well and that he could lessen or strengthen the effects as he pleased, he would just have to practice and adjust to the concept later.  Sheila practically seemed to have an aura about her.

…As did Church, oddly enough.

It figured: he got a new cybernetic eye and it was already fucking _broken_.

He shook his head to clear his vision, the glow from the electronics lessening as his brain began to adjust to all of the new information it was receiving.

“I knew it would be painful.” He said defensively, grimacing at a sudden involuntary twitch in his fingers that sent a wave of fire up his arm, “I just…didn’t know it would be this _painful_.”

For a split second, there almost seemed to be a slight look of concern on Church’s face, but he quickly schooled his expression into his usual one of angry disdain.  That was another thing Simmons had learned about Church over the years: he was either always pissed off at the entire world or largely uninterested in it.

“You’re alive and it’s too late to bitch and moan about it now, right?” he said gruffly, “So just lay down and rest, and hopefully this whole episode won’t end up being a goddamned waste of time.”

“Church.” Sheila’s tone was one of warning.

He looked at her nervously.  The one thing Simmons still didn’t quite get was the odd bond between the two of them.  Church seemed much more respectful of Sheila than others.  He supposed it had to do with their earlier association, when Sheila had been inside a tank and was capable of leaving him a bloody smear on the ground.

Church sighed slightly and his tone was a bit softer when he spoke again, “Just recover, okay, nerd?  With you in here, it’s just us and Doc when he’s not training and I’d rather have you being an annoying kiss-ass than listen to the guy who refuses to shoot anything in a fucking war.”

“Thanks, Church.” He was surprised to find that he actually meant it.

“Yeah, well, now I have to go wash this fucking memory off of me.” He shuddered and headed back to the door, “Let’s go, Sheila, we have a meeting with Carolina.”

Sheila stood and nodded slightly to Simmons in goodbye before following Church outside.

Simmons laid there in silence for a good long while, the soft humming of the machinery of the medical unit filling his ears.  It seemed louder now then whenever he’d been in here previously.

He tried his hardest to avoid falling asleep again though, preferring the physical pain of being awake to what else lay in store for him in dreams.

*****

“How are you feeling?”

Simmons blinked, surprised by the bluntness of C.T.’s question.

The two hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks and the one time they had run into each other he had been extremely early for a meeting, so he had decided to visit the lounge again where he had first met her and Washington: the view always made him smile wistfully somehow.  She didn’t beat around the bush.

In a way, he supposed he was grateful for her bluntness.  It made it easier to talk to her without being his usual brain-dead self around females.

“Wh--what are you referring to, exactly?”

Okay, well, he _had_ said “easier.”  He didn’t say foolproof.

She pointed directly at his augmented eye, “That.  It’s only been a few weeks since your surgery, shouldn’t you still be resting?”

“Oh.” He frowned, “I’m okay.  I mean…it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Well, that wasn’t true.  It still hurt quite a bit, just nowhere near as excruciating as it had right after the operation.  It actually ached less in general when he moved around more, sleeping was what killed him the most, truthfully, so he had wanted to go back on active duty as quick as possible.

But that would require a lot of words to explain and he didn’t really have the energy for it.

She didn’t look too convinced, but she let it slide.  Instead, she raised a brown eyebrow at the package underneath his arm.

“What’s that?”

He looked down and blushed, wishing he’d remembered to return to barracks to store it first, “It’s, um…a get-well gift from a friend.  Banana nut bread.”

Doc was busy with medic training now, having been finally given permission to take a break from active duty to focus fully on it.  Whenever he had time still though, he would drop off homemade snacks like that to Simmons if he saw him outside of duty ever since the redhead had his operation.  It was nice, though horribly embarrassing all at the same time.

“That’s nice.” She gave a slight smile, “Too bad I’m allergic to nuts or I’d make you share.”

Agent Connecticut sat down at one of the tables, motioning for Simmons to do the same.

She looked extremely tired since he’d seen her last and there was sadness in her eyes all the time now.  It wasn’t the resentful sadness she’d displayed when they had first met: just a regular, lingering sadness.

“Agent Washington asked about you, you know.” She said quietly, “After the surgery.”

“He did?” his shock caused his voice to reach a higher octave.

He hadn’t actually seen Washington a lot recently, which had been somewhat upsetting considering the young Freelancer had been the second closest person he felt he could call something of a “friend” here beyond Doc.  He supposed now too that the list could be extended to include C.T. and Sheila in a way, which was odd to think about considering how he still had trouble talking to them sometimes.

Something bad had apparently happened to him around the same time that the Insurrection attack occurred and when Captain Flowers died, but the details were lost and buried under all sorts of classification codes.

All Simmons really knew about the incident was that Washington had been shipped off to a rehabilitation facility somewhere else in Above Ground for over ten months.  When he came back, he was distant and brooding and made it a point to never socialize with anyone for longer than five minutes, acting for all the world as if he expected them to stab him in the back at some point.

Washington wasn’t as bad around Simmons, but that was probably more because the timid soldier didn’t exactly rank high on anyone’s threat scale.  He’d say a curt greeting to him in the halls, but would then move on as fast as he could afterwards, looking over his shoulders in a way that had become something of a ritual for him now.

“He doesn’t show it anymore, but he still has some kindness in him.” She looked regretful but smiled somewhat, “I wish I hadn’t been as hard on him back then.”

C.T.’s slight smile went from nostalgic tinged with regret to hard-edged in a matter of seconds, “It was Freelancer that did that to him, you know.”

He gulped, not entirely sure he wanted to hear this.  He knew there was truth to what she said, even if he couldn’t say for sure exactly _what_ it was.

“When I see him next time, though, I’ll tell him you’re doing well.  It’ll ease some of the worries from him, if nothing else.”

Thankfully, she decided to switch tact again instead.

He smiled, somewhat relieved, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

A silence stretched between them after that, with a thoughtful, faraway expression crossing over C.T.’s face.

Simmons debated about it for a moment, never quite as good with social protocols as he wanted to be, but somewhat concerned about the redness he saw in the brunette’s eyes.

And he decided eventually: fuck it, fair is fair.  She’d already asked him herself anyways.

“How are you f--feeling then?”

He wanted to kick himself for his stutter.

She blinked, surprised at the question.  Then she smiled slightly, “Better than you physically, I’d wager.”

So she _hadn’t_ bought his earlier remark.  He felt his face flush in embarrassment at having been found out.

She sighed, “I’m just out of it, I think.” She looked over at the window, “I’m worried about my friends and upset that I can’t do more.”

He remained silent at this, because he honestly had no idea of what to say to her.

“And this whole time of year is always depressing to me.”

His expression must have asked the question he was far too afraid to ask for fear of intruding on her privacy because her smile turned somewhat sad.

“Someone I cared for a lot,” she paused, choosing her next words carefully, “They died awhile ago around this time.”

“Oh.” It was all he could think to say, though it was largely inadequate.

“I thought it might get easier to deal with, the more time passed…” she shrugged, a wry look on her face, “But with each year it gets worse.”

“I’m…” he paused, tried to start again, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head as if to dispel any lingering depressing thoughts from it and gave him a comforting smile, “Well, I know everyone goes through that sort of thing.” She gave him a pointed, sympathetic look, “Florida was killed around this time too.  And your mother recently passed away, correct?”

He nodded mutely, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to say anything.

“Grief can make us do crazy things sometimes.  Like volunteering to be a cyborg.”

And whatever response he had to that observation flew completely from his head when a red-haired woman in cyan and silver armor stepped into the lounge area.  There was an odd, almost miniature human-shaped image floating just above her shoulder, but it quickly flickered from view before any more details could be discerned the second she turned her green eyes on the two people conversing in the area.

“C.T.,” her tone was clipped and to the point, “I thought you were off-duty today.”

Connecticut stood straight as an arrow in the presence of her commanding officer, “I am.  Just figured I’d finish filing some reports before I headed out.”

“Get to it then.” Agent Carolina left no room for argument or debate.

Connecticut nodded, offering a quick sympathetic smile in Simmons’ direction and a comforting pat on the shoulder before moving past Carolina.

Simmons swallowed nervously, trying to fight the sudden urge to vomit.

He very nearly had a fucking heart attack ( _never mind that his heart wasn’t in his chest anymore_ ), when the soldier took the spot that had been previously occupied by C.T. across from him.

His fear of Carolina wasn’t so much his usual anxiety when it came to dealing with women as it was that she terrified the hell out of him.  Agent Carolina was intimidating as _fuck_.  Even just sitting there, staring impassively out the window like she was, there was a sharpness about her, a lingering sense that she could (and would, if properly incensed) break every bone in your body before you could even blink.

It took a special sort of elite to be the leader of the Freelancers, after all.

“You’re here early, Private Simmons.”

He started, surprised at being addressed by her.  She hadn’t taken her eyes off of the window at all.

“Um…”

Maybe it had something to do with Captain Flowers having been a Freelancer.  Maybe it had something to do with Agents York, North, and Tex defecting or with Agent Washington being out of commission for so long and Agent Maine’s apparent killed in action status too: other issues he hadn’t gotten any details on yet as well.  Maybe it was because of the war and being understaffed at the Mother of Invention.  Or possibly the people doing all of the paperwork in the military were just really shitty at their jobs.

But for whatever reason, control over Florida’s “side-project” had fallen to Agent Carolina at his passing.  Which was pretty damn nerve-wracking, all in all, even if she really didn’t seem to have much use for them and generally only tolerated the group to go on surveillance missions of very little importance as a result.

On one hand, it was a good way to prove oneself.  On the other, well, Simmons really never wanted to experience a tenth of what the Freelancers probably did on a daily basis ( _his captain’s mangled body, C.T.’s sadness, Washington’s curt dismissals that he tried not to take too personally because_ something _had obviously happened even if no one told him what it was_ ).

So, naturally, he always practically had a panic attack in her presence.

“Church will be late again, most likely.” There was an annoyed resignation to her voice.  Her green eyes were still fixed on the window.

In the back of his mind, he briefly remembered having heard something about how Church and Carolina were perhaps distantly related somehow.  He wondered if that was why the two talked about each other without any mention of rank or title.

He was curious to know if that was actually true or not, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Agent Carolina about it and he had a feeling Church would simply tell him point blank that it was “none of his goddamned business” if he ever asked him.

“Er…”

She finally turned to regard him with a blank, assessing look on her face that gave away nothing.  Her eyes remained fixed on the visible synthetic skin graft and red eye of his face.

“You were in recovery for your cybernetic enhancement surgery only a few weeks ago.” She noted.

He nodded, mind drawing a total blank on vocalizing at the moment.

“I won’t ask how you’re feeling.  You opted for the surgery to improve yourself and you have to work out how to do that on your own.” She did tilt her head to him slightly, tone only softening marginally, “Though I do admit, most soldiers aren’t nearly as active so soon afterwards.”

Holy shit, was that praise?  Before his brain could explode from the notion or come up with some weird, convoluted way he could misinterpret it somehow as an insult because he was never that comfortable with praise, she carried on through.

“I have a lot of high hopes that there won’t be any negative repercussions from my decision to send the three of you out on the field for your next assignment.”

She waited in silence for her words to sink in, eyebrow twitching slightly when it took longer than she seemed to deem necessary for what she said to process through Simmons’ mind.

“Y--you mean…?” his throat was dry and he ignored the aches in his body and the odd sudden realization that, by this point, Doc’s “get-well gift” was probably just a bag of crumbs under his armpit as he’d forgotten entirely to put it down on the table when he had been talking to C.T. earlier.

Carolina gave a curt nod, “Yes, your team is going underground.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** More character introductions and some more plot points brought up. I experimented a little by finally using two different P.O.V.s in one chapter, which will probably be happening more often in future chapters. I apologize for how rushed the ending to the third chapter was though in comparison! I’ll try to avoid doing that again in subsequent chapters and all of those points I mentioned there will definitely be coming back into the story in a big way later on, I promise!
> 
> Also, for some reason, in my head canon Kimball looks a lot like Lyndie Greenwood: the actress who plays Jenny Mills in the _Sleepy Hollow_ television show. I’m not sure how that happened, but it did (which is kind of cool because she is awesome and Kimball is awesome!). :D
> 
> So, not much to say on this one beyond that the next chapter will finally have a reunion of sorts (haha, took me long enough! XD). Thank you to everyone who has been reading the fic. I hope that this chapter was an enjoyable one!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Five:

The plan, as he understood it, was a fairly simple one.

According to Carolina, one of the surveillance computers meant to monitor the situation in the tunnels and keep an eye on Resistance activity had broken down and all other soldiers capable of maintenance for it were busy elsewhere.

It was in a location fairly remote and not at all extremely vital as far as strategy went, but she figured it was better to err on the side of caution anyways.  Since it was well-known that the Resistance had makeshift bases in the tunnels instead of in the actual Slums and that they would routinely change bases in order to avoid getting pinned down in one spot, it was better to have as many computers as possible spying in the corridors and shafts.

So, really, all their group was expected to do was go into the tunnels, find out what happened to the computer, repair it if possible, and then check on the status of other nearby surveillance computers as well while they were there and do any routine maintenance they might also need.  After that, they were told to simply leave and return to the surface so they could fill out a mission report.

No real fuss over this particular mission, despite technically having to enter a battle zone to do it.  It was no wonder Agent Carolina didn’t seem to mind handing the assignment over to them.

Still, Simmons couldn’t help the nervous feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach even with this knowledge.

He supposed that it came as a mixed blessing of sorts that the pain from his surgery had dissipated by the time they had headed out.  At least for the most part.

“Are you two done yet?”

Church’s tone had a lazy drawl to it as he peered disinterestedly down at his two teammates bent over a computer terminal.  It was odd in a way how his blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the darkened space.

They were standing in the entryway to the tunnel closest to where the surveillance computer that went offline had been located with only one more sealed bulkhead between them and it.

The entrances to The Slums and the mines surrounding it from Above Ground were sealed with high-level military-grade tech and architecture.  After the initial exodus of people to the surface, it seemed there had been a huge demand to keep everyone else stuck behind out.  The tunnels usually had a ten-chamber security system with separate encryption codes for each space, the reinforcement for each sealed door getting progressively thicker and harder to break through.  He wasn’t sure a rocket launcher could get through the thinnest door: a heavy-duty missile probably wouldn’t even _dent_ the final one.  The codes to open each gate got increasingly more complex the closer to the surface one was as well.

Truthfully, if Simmons was ever in the mood to pat himself on the back these days, he’d probably be more likely to acknowledge just how incredible a feat it was for him to have hacked into that level of security and make it into The Slums all those years ago.  But, it was a far thought from his mind at the moment and he really didn’t remember much about that whole ordeal now beyond the sheer giddy feeling he’d had in the pit of his stomach when Grif had praised him for it later on, which then made him feel bad on account of not knowing what had happened to his friend.  He had to concentrate now.

Besides, security protocols were heightened in the present day on account of the Insurrection somehow managing to bypass all of them to attack Above Ground directly and the active fighting in the tunnels now.

He glared up at his teammate in annoyance, “Give us a few more minutes.”

“That’s what you said ten minutes ago!”

He was about to snap in exasperation at him that it might take even more time ( _it was fucking delicate work, after all!_ ) when Sheila beat him to it.

“Patience is an important part of the equation when trying to get through proper security channels, Church.”

Church scoffed, mumbling something about how much he hated “computer shit” in general before leaving them to finish their work.

It was just the three of them this time since Doc was still in medic training full-time.

Simmons was trying not to feel too nervous, reminding himself over and over that the reason they were even doing this mission at all was because Agent Carolina didn’t consider it a risky one.

Having Church breathing down their necks because he was aggravated they had to do this kind of work _at all_ certainly wasn’t helping matters, though.

“Thank you.” He mumbled quietly to Sheila when he was fairly certain that their comrade wasn’t in earshot.

She gave a brief nod, “He can be difficult at times, I know.”

That was putting it fucking mildly, but Simmons supposed he was glad that at least one of his teammates on this mission was polite.

“Hey, you guys, you better not be fucking talking about me!”

If nothing else, it definitely helped to balance Church out.

The last gate opened with a whirring sound less than twenty minutes later, darkness beckoning the three from the corridor beyond.

Church, already testy with impatience at having to wait so long, scoffed at this.

“So the lighting in this shitty place we’re heading into is out too.” His blue eyes flashed with annoyance, “Fucking great.”

Simmons knew the lack of light wouldn’t be much of a problem for Sheila since robotic night vision was excellent.

One of the few upsides he’d found after his surgery was that his augmented eye _also_ had a very useful night vision mode as well.  Already it was adjusting to the gloom before them and he could make out shapes although nothing noteworthy or exciting, really: rocks, metal reinforcements, the computer paneling for lighting and other features of the tunnel beyond that was no longer functional in at least this area apparently, and so on.  He doubted he’d even need the portable lighting that Church was now fishing out from the repair kit for the computer they had brought with them.

“Power in the tunnels can be iffy sometimes, but we should come across some lights that are still active soon.” He tried supplying helpfully in the off-chance that he could help improve Church’s current mood somewhat.

“Yeah, though it won’t do jack-shit if I trip and break my neck on a goddamned rock before then.” He could almost make out the scowl that no doubt was plastered on Church’s face in his voice.

There was an odd tenseness in Church’s tone and his body language was rigid and stiff.

Simmons exchanged a concerned look with Sheila upon noticing it, “Are you okay, Church?”

In any other situation, Church would have probably gotten angry in response to Simmons’ question.  His reaction to it now was perhaps even more disconcerting.

He waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture, moving past his teammates with a grimace clouding over his face, “I’m fine.  I just…can’t stand the dark.  Or cramped places.” He let out a sharp sounding laugh, “Which means this mission is fucking perfect, huh?”

Before either could respond though, his pace quickened, “So, let’s just get this damned thing over with.  Which way do we go from here?”

*****

“And you figured bringing this mech back with you was a smart idea?”

Kimball glanced up at Freckles warily, a reaction that was pretty understandable given how menacing its size and heavy artillery made it.

They were in the large corridor that served as the meeting room for the Resistance.  It had been a bit of a challenge to get the assault droid through some of the smaller tunnels to reach the base proper, but for as large as the robot was he was surprisingly flexible: no doubt the reason why Caboose had decided to teach him dance moves.

“Caboose wouldn’t let us leave him.” Tucker shrugged, “And you know how he gets when he’s attached to something.”

“Besides,” York glanced over his shoulder at Freckles, his voice becoming a whisper as if afraid that the droid might overhear what he had to say from across the meeting room, “Did you really want us to leave something like that in the tunnels?”

“You have a point there.”

Caboose, who had been happily running around Freckles and showing off to Donut all of the parts on his new “dog” that it liked to have scratched while Grif tried really hard to not get freaked out by how many of those parts were gun turrets, bounded over to them.

“Can Freckles stay?” he whined, eyes shining, “Please?”

Kimball seemed to debate it for a moment and the group gave a collective start when it seemed as though Freckles turned his head in their direction as if he was waiting on her answer as well.

Finally, she sighed, “He can stay, Caboose, provided you take good care of him.” She frowned, following that quickly with, “And he doesn’t shoot anyone.”

“Yay!” he grinned, “You hear that, Freckles?”

“ACKNOWLEDGED.”

“Now we just need to find you that tiny hat!”

“I swear this shit gets weirder every day.” Grif muttered under his breath.

Sarge nodded in an almost sage gesture, “Tell me about it.  You’re now officially the worst soldier in the Resistance, Grif.”

The orange armored man shot him an incredulous look, “What?  How?”

“Well, technically, it used to be you and then Caboose.  But he just got a giant death machine as a pet, so I say he just squeaks by you now on the competence scale.”

Grif stared at him blankly, unable to formulate words to retort just yet.

“Truth hurts, don’t it?” Sarge’s gruff voice asked.

“That is the stupidest—“

“Well, you’ll always be good as a human shield so don’t feel too down!” Sarge chuckled maniacally, “There’s bound to be a mission where we’ll need a heroic sacrifice one of these days and you’ll just have to do.”

Grif was, again, at a loss for words.

“Though it wouldn’t be heroic.  More like a lazy sacrifice, in your case.” The older man corrected.

“I can’t believe you’re my superior officer.” He grumbled exasperatedly.

“Neither can I, Grif, neither can I.” he sighed sadly, “Though you’re so inferior to begin with that everyone is infinitely superior to you in comparison if you think about it.”

“Can I get transferred now, please?” he turned to beg Kimball, deciding it best to ignore the crazy old man in red again for the time being.

Unfortunately for him, she was busy conversing with Tex and York.

“Did you find anything else down in 32-A?” she asked them, her tone and expression serious.

York shook his head, “Beyond Caboose’s dog?  No.  We didn’t find anything that wasn’t dismantled or thoroughly destroyed.”

She frowned, lost in thought, “Some freelancers have been snooping around in the tunnels for any military tech they can find.” She caught their suddenly very grim expressions, “Not your type of freelancers: mercenaries, I mean.”

“You think they might be a problem?”

From the way Tex worded the question it was pretty apparent that if the mercenaries _were_ something of an issue, she would be all for dispatching them.  Most likely in the most swift and brutal way possible.

Grif shuddered, having to fight the instinctive urge to shield his crotch at her tone.

An unsure look pierced Kimball’s brown eyes, something none of them were too familiar with seeing there.  She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“I don’t think that will be necessary for one of them, at least.” She finally said.

Sarge scoffed and Grif was relieved to see a disdainful look on his rough and weathered features that _wasn’t_ directed at him for just existing for a change, “You’re talking about that mercenary fella that’s been sniffing around here, aren’t ya?”

She nodded, “Felix.” She said in way of elaboration.

“I don’t trust him.  No one who chooses to wear orange is up to any good!”

He sent a pointed glare in the tan man’s direction and Grif sighed wearily.

That was fun for the two whole minutes it had lasted.

“Besides, he’s even worse than Grif!” Sarge continued with his rant, “At least this dirt bag volunteered to be here even though he refuses to do anything meaningful and is a drain on resources that could be used to train a more worthwhile soldier:  like a kitten with a bazooka, for starters.”

“You know—“

“Oh, that would be so cute!” Caboose interrupted Grif’s retort with one of his own, “It would have to be a small bazooka though because otherwise how would the kitten lift it with his tiny paws?”

Everyone chose to ignore him.  They did that often when Caboose would interject his thoughts into conversations.

“That merc fella has the audacity to ask for money to fight the good fight!  That’s mighty un-soldier-like, if you ask me.”

“Wait a minute, that’s an option?” Tex’s eyes seemed to light up somewhat at the possibility.

York smiled regrettably, “Yeah, it probably would have been one if we’d put it on the table when we first came here.  I think we’re stuck doing this for free now though.”

“Damn it.  That figures.”

“Felix does know what he’s doing though and he’s not actually asking for money.  Only a share in any tech or weaponry we scavenge, even if they happen to be damaged.” Kimball chose to ignore the side commentary and focus on the discussion with Sarge.  She did that a lot when all of them were together like this, though Grif couldn’t really blame her for it: they did seem to get side-tracked an awful lot in their conversations.

“Still…” Sarge was obviously not too keen on the idea.  Grif was rather curious about who this ‘Felix’ mercenary was to get so under Sarge’s skin.

“You know as well as I do that we’re not in a position to be picky.” The leader of the Resistance reminded him, “Besides I haven’t decided anything yet.  I’ll make sure he’s true to his word if nothing else well before then, I promise you.”

Sarge “harrumphed” and muttered under his breath something unintelligible in response, but he made no more discernible protests.

She turned back to Tex, “It’s the other mercenary that’s more of the issue.  He calls himself Locus.”

“You mean he named himself after his armor?” York whistled, “That’s a bit messed up.”

“Says one of the guys named for a defunct province on a planet none of us have ever lived on?” Tucker asked him incredulously.

“It’s called a codename, Tucker, and I didn’t pick it for myself.”

“You’re still using it, though.” The dark-skinned man pointed out.

“I’ve heard of him.” Tex cut into their dialogue with an off-handed remark to Kimball, “Nothing too pleasant.”

A nod, “Which is why having him around isn’t a prospect I’m particularly thrilled about.”

“I’ll keep a lookout for him then.” The red-haired woman cracked her knuckles for added emphasis on the real meaning behind her words.  It wasn’t lost on anyone.

Kimball nodded again, “Thank you.”

“And now that that’s all taken care of and Caboose is back, I should probably go collect Junior from North.” Tucker said, looking expectantly at Kimball to give the okay.

She gave a curt nod, which he took as his cue to leave.

“Aw, Tucker, why don’t you play with Freckles some first?” Caboose asked before he could get away fully.

Tucker glanced upwards nervously at the robot, who then turned to look down at him.

He shook his head, “Yeah, I don’t think so, Caboose.  I have a feeling his definition of play would be shooting me, which I’m really not cool with right now.”

“Grif, why don’t you play with Caboose and his new robot?” Sarge jumped on that train of thought pretty quickly with an all-too eager look in his eyes.

Grif groaned, feeling like today was going to feel even longer than it had been already.

*****

“You sent them into the tunnels.”

Carolina scowled at the blunt statement and Washington had to fight the urge to instinctively shrink back in response to the very obvious _don’t fuck with me_ vibe his commanding officer was giving him.  The rookie Freelancer would never have addressed her that way before.  He would never have questioned her orders.

Old habits were hard to break, it seemed, even when everything else about his existence had proved far too fragile.

_How many times had he been broken and put back together again?  He wasn’t really whole anymore now, he knew that much: just a collection of a thousand shards of ‘self’ in a worthless container.  Some of those shards weren’t even him.  He had to remember who he was all over again whenever he woke up._

It was almost infuriatingly annoying to be so brought back to ‘David’ with just a look even though he knew how meaningless that sense of camaraderie he’d had with the Freelancers was.  The respect, the _sense_ of it still permeated things: warping his perceptions further.

He wondered how much Carolina knew.

She was smarter than him.  She was at the top of the food chain.  She’d been around when Maine was taken over ( _barely survived that, from what he’d gathered_ ).  She’d been there when York, North, and Tex had defected ( _he tried not to view that as a betrayal like how the others did, but that was only because he knew the_ whole damn project _was a betrayal now: though a small part of him couldn’t help but still feel resentment over how neither York or North had bothered telling him anything or came to help him_ ).

He assumed she suspected, at least.  Though perhaps she just didn’t care.

He wasn’t about to ask, to expose that he knew things now that he wasn’t supposed to.

_Something trying to kill itself in your brain had nasty repercussions.  Had to play them up to get people to overlook sudden knowledge of all things classified.  He didn’t even have to fake it._

It worked this time too because despite her obvious anger at a subordinate questioning her call, Carolina didn’t lash out as she was want to do.  _Maybe she did know or perhaps she didn’t, maybe she felt sorry for him or perhaps not.  She kept most things beyond her drive and her anger close to her chest and guarded, a skill he was so desperately trying to emulate now_.

Instead, she nodded, “Do you have a problem with that, Agent Washington?”

_A challenge.  Tread carefully or not at all._

He swallowed nervously: “This wasn’t a mission from the Director.”

She didn’t ask how he knew that ( _‘David’ wouldn’t have known before: he’d been far too stupidly clueless and trusting and look where it had gotten him_ ) and said instead, “No, it came directly from the Chairman of The Council.”

Another thing he’d already known.  There was something more to it than just routine maintenance.  He just didn’t know what.  All he’d been told was that he was on standby for the time being ( _he didn’t think Malcolm Hargrove was any better than the Director, but he was his ticket out of this mess so he’d have to play along_ ).

Carolina was frowning, “I’m not sure what his game is, but I’m not wasting Freelancers for a routine repair mission.”

Washington said nothing, suspecting it wasn’t really all that routine.  He hated thinking that way though, as he was not sure what it meant for Simmons and the others involved.

_Maybe he felt guilty, who knows?  There should be more than enough of that flying around everywhere here._

“But if the mission somehow inexplicably goes south, there _is_ an extraction plan.” Carolina seemed to interpret ( _or “misinterpret,” who can say?  He barely knew what he felt himself anymore_ ), “Don’t worry, Wash.”

She almost seemed comforting then, like she used to be when he’d first joined and she had encouraged him through his dismal first missions and training drills or when he saw her smiling slightly at one of York’s awful jokes.  That was before.  Before she became obsessed with perfection.

It took him slightly aback, especially when it flashed with a memory of a little girl laughing he hadn’t ever seen before.

 _…Probably had though, all of_ its _memories had been a blur in his head at that time.  They would replay now without warning whenever something triggered them, with no real rhyme or reason he could discern._

Her face hardened just as quickly, however, green eyes like daggers when she moved into his personal space before he could even begin to register her movement.

“And _don’t_ question my orders ever again.” She growled out in a low voice, “That won’t be tolerated from anyone anymore.  Is that understood, Agent Washington?”

He briefly wondered if she thought of York when she said that, but knew better than to ask.

Washington nodded mutely in response and Carolina left without so much as casting another glance in his direction.

He didn’t think she knew the full story then.

If she did, he was fairly certain the Director would already be dead.

_He was disappointed in a way that she didn’t._

And he was disappointed with himself for having to once again wait to see how things turned out.

He hated waiting, even if it was one of the only things keeping him alive right now.

Waiting only seemed to make him dwell on things he’d rather not.

*****

They found the nonfunctioning surveillance computer easily enough several hours after beginning their trek through the tunnels.

It would have been practically impossible had they not had the exact locations of all of the computers in the area stored in a digital map that they could draw on through the computers in their armor when necessary.  The whole location was made even more accessible than simply relying on that thanks to the Global Positioning System that Sheila still contained as a throwback to her days inside of a tank.  Not only did they have the intel stored inside their computers, but Sheila had access to all sorts of navigational and directional programming to make things even easier on them.

She had off-handedly mentioned to Simmons once that his enhancements made it plausible for him to have access to similar programming mentally as well, but Simmons wasn’t quite sure he wanted to test that yet.  It was one thing for him to be _able_ to do it, quite another to be ready to do so all at the same time.

Although certain cybernetic enhancements he _had_ been more than willing to try and experiment with already, improved aim and motion control being the primary ones: _glad to see an improvement in his overall accuracy, extremely disappointed to realize it still was only marginal improvement at best_.

The surveillance device itself looked to be a small computer terminal deftly hidden in the wall-paneling of a mining corridor.  It would be impossible to know it was even there if just walking by since the paneling concealed it from plain view.  It was tricky even to find it if that portion of the wall was removed given how small and hidden it was amongst a nest of wires and circuitry unless someone knew what they were looking for or, more accurately in the case of miners or maintenance workers just doing their jobs, what _wasn’t_ supposed to be there in the first place.

The tech the surveillance computers used to spy on things in the tunnels was very advanced in order to pick up on what was happening through somewhat thick metal sheeting.  Simmons imagined it was so nit-picky in terms of the overall flow of data it picked up that being the people whose job it was to monitor the footage on a constant basis must be bored out of their minds, especially considering how most of the surveillance machines probably didn’t pick up anything vital to begin with.

According to the map, they were in corridor 5-C though there seemed no logical rhyme or reason to the naming scheme in the mines that he could discern since the tunnel before that was 8-B and the following one was 58-H.  Maybe it had at one point made sense when the colony had been newly established and there weren’t as many mines, but it sure as fuck didn’t make any now.  The corridor itself was a larger one that opened out into a pretty big expanse of space, almost like an auditorium-sized room.  Simmons supposed he could understand why a surveillance computer had been set up here after seeing it: this area could make for a decent-sized storage area or temporary base in a pinch or it could just be a good-sized corridor to move a lot of equipment or people through in a hurry.

Still, it had certainly seen better days in terms of its overall condition as some of the paneling and terminals had been jarred loose in it.  There were large piles of debris throughout the place that they’d had to carefully navigate through: discarded, derelict mining equipment and large chunks of rock left behind for whatever reason.

Simmons was somewhat glad that it was mandatory army regulation to keep your helmets on when out in the field after seeing the state of 5-C: at least, feasibly, they could stay alive in case of a collapse for a little while.  The oxygen wasn’t so much an issue for him anymore as it would be for Church, but a large enough piece of debris hitting him or Sheila in the head could still prove fatal all the same.

Sheila motioned to one of the side-paneling sections that still seemed relatively intact.

“That is where the surveillance computer was located when it went offline.” She said, a whirring sound coming from the inside of her helmet that indicated that she was using a digital locator to find that information.

“And since it’s one of the only spots here that doesn’t look like shit, it’s probably still there.” Church surmised.  He still seemed oddly on edge about being underground, but he was covering it up a lot better now.  Probably because there actually were some active lighting sources in the tunnels they’d been in recently and this one was larger to boot, or because finding the computer meant they were closer to being done with the mission.  He even sounded somewhat eager when he spoke next, “Let’s get this done with.”

They worked to remove the panel in silence, the soft buzz of the hand tools used to free the metal sheeting from the wall the only sound for two minutes or so.  Simmons and Church both glanced over their shoulders to make sure that no one had heard the noise and came to investigate.

When the paneling was gone from the equation and hastily put to the side, they were able to stare at the surveillance computer proper.  Its dead screen and non-functioning lights a sharp contrast to the small blips of color around it that indicated power was still on in this tunnel at least partially.

“That is…” Sheila paused, as if trying to choose her words carefully, “Odd.”

“Yeah?” Church peered at the contraption dismissively, “It’s not working, which is why we’re down here to fix it, right?  Seems like that’s exactly what is going on.”

“It is not functioning, Church, that is correct.” Sheila was reaching out to tap the tiny screen with a slim robotic finger, “But it is not working anymore _not_ on account of having been removed or because it needs any sort of repairs.”

“What the fuck are you saying, then?” he sounded very much confused, “Why isn’t it active anymore?”

“Private Simmons, you’re starting to figure out what I am deducing, yes?”

He frowned, piecing it together but having a hard time understanding the ‘why’ behind what it meant anymore than Church did.

“I—if it wasn’t damaged or removed somehow,” he finally said, knowing that Church was looking at him demanding an explanation and Sheila wanted to see how much he’d deduced on his own as well, “Then that means that it was manually shutdown.”

“Okay, so what the fuck does that mean exactly?”

“It means, Church, that someone on our side shut it down.” Sheila flicked a tiny button on the side of the computer and suddenly the blackened screen booted up with an inner light and flecks of blue and red blinked across its various buttons, “They probably didn’t even leave Above Ground to do it given how powerful the data transfers from these devices are.”

The frown was evident in his voice, “But what would be the point?”

Church was right, there: the action made no sense.  If the person was a sympathizer to the Resistance and had gained access to the termination codes for surveillance computers then shutting all of them off or ones in more vital areas would have made the most strategic sense.  This one computer was in a very remote location.

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged, “Perhaps it was a prank?  Human behavior is odd sometimes.”

“A prank.” Church sighed, taking a step backwards from the problematic machine with a defeated posture slumping his shoulders, “Fucking great.  Carolina is going to be pissed when she finds out.”

*****

Grif was surprised to see North later on after the meeting, chatting amicably with Donut while suiting up into his armor.

“So you got to babysit this time, huh?” Donut was saying, a wistful look on his face, “I’m jealous!”

“I’m sure there will be other occasions where you can do it instead, Donut.” The former Freelancer said gently, “I imagine it’s a bit hard for Tucker to find a lot of people who want to look after Junior.”

“True, I think the only other person who does it on a regular basis is Grif’s sister, Kaikaina.” The pink-armored soldier turned in his direction, “Right, Grif?”

He nodded, “Yeah, when she’s not out having way too good of a time for it to be legal.”

North shot him a sympathetic look, “Your sister’s a bit of a handful, I take it?”

He wasn’t being nosy, Grif knew.  That wasn’t North Dakota’s personality.  He was asking out of a genuine curiosity and not as a way to twist it into some judgmental comment about Grif or Kai.  North wouldn’t even probably get upset if the man refused to respond to his question.

It was almost strange in a way to think that the very same military program that had given rise to Agent Texas had also housed someone as incredibly understanding and kind as North.

“That’s probably an understatement.” He joked in response.

“Aw, but she’s a good kid.” Donut chimed in happily, “I wish you’d let her come by the base more, Grif.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.” He shuddered at the memory of what that had been like.

North smiled slightly at the exchange, “Sisters can be like that sometimes.  She’s lucky to have you in her corner, though.”

“Do you have siblings, North?” Donut asked, probably curious due to the almost nostalgic tone that had entered North’s voice.

Something odd flashed in North’s pale eyes and he looked at the ground quickly, “One.  A sister.  We…don’t talk anymore.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the space as both Grif and Donut exchanged glances.

With how approachable North was, sometimes it was easy to forget the reason he was here.  Of course he probably wouldn’t have any contact with his family now that he had defected.

Not one to let silences linger unpleasantly, Donut spoke up, “Still, it’s a shame about Junior.  I mean, yeah, he’s an alien and that’s a bit weird but he’s such a sweet little guy.” He frowned, seemingly remembering something else, “I bet he feels lonely since no kids want to play with him.”

“Theta would have loved to have met him, I’m sure.”

The two glanced over at North, who suddenly looked embarrassed.  Apparently he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t realized he’d spoken that out loud until now.

“Oh!  He’s a little kid I used to babysit.” He said in way of a rush explanation, “Strange name, I know, but he was incredibly nice.  Very shy but observant too, so I imagine he’d probably understand Junior’s feelings quite a bit.”

There was that nostalgic look on the blonde’s face again, only the guilt and sadness in his eyes took on a pained, lingering quality to it this time.  Neither Grif nor Donut seemed to feel comfortable asking for more information.

“Wow, North, you really are good with kids!” Donut chose to exclaim instead, smiling brightly in an attempt to overcome the suddenly heavy atmosphere.

“Thanks.” He smiled warmly again, “Speaking of that, though, you two haven’t seen Caboose around, have you?”

“Not since the meeting earlier.” Grif frowned, “Why?”

“Tex asked me to tag along with both of them on an errand.  Something about how Caboose said he wanted to walk his ‘dog.’” He paused, looking at them both quizzically, “I’m missing something in the translation of that though, aren’t I?”

Grif nodded, “Better bring the heavy artillery.  Just in case.”

“Got it.” North picked up his favorite sniper rifle and gave them both a friendly wave before disappearing to find his comrade and Caboose.

“Hey, Grif, since we’re not on duty for a couple of hours want to play a few rounds of Heads or Tails?”

He paused, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Though on second thought, maybe not.  I usually always go for Head, even though Tail can be pretty fun too just to mix things up!”

And there it was.

He took a deep breath in and out to let it slide.

Donut, oblivious to the fact that his innuendo habit had just struck again, smiled even brighter, “Oh!  Or better yet, how about I show you this really delicious banana nut bread recipe I found online instead?  I hope you like nuts though!”

*****

Despite the fact that their reason for being there was completely not what they had expected, they still technically had a mission to do and that was to check on the status of a few other surveillance computers in the area as well.

Once the paneling was put back into place with Church grumbling under his breath about how this was just a “goddamned waste of time” all the while, they began to make their way back to where Tunnel 5-C intersected with several other corridors.  Sheila was in front as she was able to access the locations of the computers and process the information quicker than her two male counterparts could.

“The closest one to us is in 42-B, which we can access through this corridor here.” She tilted her head in the direction of a side-corridor a little ways from where they were standing.

“These ones aren’t broken and shouldn’t be fucking turned off, so hopefully it won’t take too long.” It was evident Church was grimacing due to his tone, “If we don’t get lost or something looking for them.”

“We shouldn’t, not with my navigational schematics and the maps.” Sheila shrugged, “At least not for more than a few hours.”

“Comforting as always, Sheila.”

And just as the man in cobalt armor began dragging his reluctant feet towards the tunnel that the robot had indicated the ground quaked and he slipped, landing on his knee.  Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck was that?” he spat out through gritted teeth.

Simmons’ face paled and he glanced around them nervously, “Is…is the tunnel collapsing?”

Not good, not good, not good: thinking about it abstractly through regulation protocol was one thing.  He didn’t really want to think of the incredibly low odds of them getting rescued from being buried alive before their oxygen ran out.  In his panic, he forgot that he didn’t have lungs or required oxygen anymore but there was no way to just tell his brain that at the moment.  Regardless, the thought of being buried alive wasn’t exactly a pleasant one.

And then, just as suddenly, the tremors stopped.

“Hello!” an unfamiliar voice boomed at them, “It is a good day to go walking, isn’t it?”

Simmons managed to force his eyes open and made a mental note that he’d berate himself later for his total lack of soldier-like discipline once the adrenaline rush subsided.  He was surprised to see a young man in blue battle armor grinning at them from the side-corridor they had just been about to enter.

“Um…” he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

In front of him, however, Church had already drawn out his gun.

“Simmons, what the hell are you waiting for?” he hissed in a whisper over to his teammate, “Look at what he’s wearing!”

He was right, really, even though Simmons didn’t want to admit it, especially not with the blonde’s far too innocent-looking eyes practically twinkling at them.

But the only people in the Slums who wore pilfered Above Ground equipment were Resistance fighters, he knew that much.

Shakily, he reached for the holster of his weapon but was reluctant to fully draw it.  The young man seemed far too childish to be any sort of actual threat at the moment.

Church didn’t seem to have that same hesitation when it came to pulling a weapon on him, but then again perhaps he did in a way and was just using it as a threat.

After all, Leonard Church was a horrible shot: even worse than Simmons on his _worst_ days.  He’d most likely miss the kid even if he was shooting at him from two feet away.

The blond-haired young man tilted his head to the side and regarded them quizzically, “Are you new?” he asked, smiling brightly once more, “I love meeting new people!”

Simmons exchanged a glance with Church.  Clearly, this Resistance member was neither one of the best or the brightest amidst their ranks.

_Too bad they aren’t all like him or the war would already be over._

“Yeah, we’re—uh, we’re new.” Church laughed nervously, his acting quite thick, “We must have gotten lost.”

“Oh, I do that all the time.  Sometimes I mark on the walls with crayon to remember where I am going.”

“That’s…good information to know.” Simmons had never felt comfortable out right lying to someone, but he supposed it was better than the alternative in this case.

The young man’s voice went into a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Though since I can only bring so many crayons with me I get confused again when I pass two blue puppies in a row!”

“We’ll try to vary then.  Maybe draw some flowers.” Church’s tone was slightly exasperated, but his willingness to play along to this bizarre conversation at least showcased that he didn’t want to harm the Resistance fighter either.

“Flowers are nice.  I like flowers.” He was practically beaming now, “Oh, today is such a great day!  First I met Freckles and now I met you.” He grinned at Church in particular, “You can be my new best friend since you are also wearing blue!”

“Sure.” Church shot Simmons and Sheila an obvious _What is wrong with this kid?_ look that was made all the more impressive since he had a helmet on, “But shouldn’t we go our separate ways now and meet up later?  With the shaking earlier, this place probably isn’t stable and we really should find our way back on our own.” He paused, trying to come up with a reason why that would be plausible, “For, uh, testing purposes.  You know how it is.”

“Oh, that wasn’t shaking!” The young man seemed rather amused at the suggestion, “That was Freckles.”

“Freckles?” Simmons repeated, more confused now than he’d ever been in his whole life.

“Yeah, we were walking and he got excited and ran ahead.  He does that a lot.” The blonde called out over them, “Freckles, say hello to our new friends!”

“THREAT LEVEL DIMINISHING.”

And it was then that the three could have probably kicked themselves for not having noticed the giant assault droid behind them who had been apparently silently observing the whole exchange with a lot of nasty-looking guns pointed at them.

Simmons gulped, really unsure of how to explain that one at all.

“Yeah, he likes to play hide-and-seek with people.  Then he likes to play hide-and-seek-and-sometimes-shooting-people.” He supplied helpfully, “He really likes to play a lot.”

“What should we do, Church?” Simmons whispered, suddenly extremely aware of just how badly the tables had changed once again.

“Quiet!  I’m thinking.”

“If I had my original body, this may have been less one-sided.” Sheila lamented.

Church glanced over at the blond-haired Resistance fighter, “We might be able to take him.” He finally muttered.

“Before or after the killer robot over there kills some of us?” Simmons’ voice rose to an incredulous pitch.

“Hey, as long as it is either of you two and not me I’m good.”

Simmons wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, but he was seriously debating trying to throttle his teammate before Freckles shot all of them.

“You really do find the strangest shit, Caboose.”

A new voice spoke up from behind the blond, a woman in black armor suddenly melting into view from the shadows.

Simmons stared at her, surprised at how oddly familiar she looked.

Nearby, Church tensed visibly.

“Oh fuck.” He heard him mutter, “Not _her_.  Anyone but her.”

She turned her head to regard Church and there was a slight amused note to her tone, “Buenos dias, cockbite.” She said in way of greeting.

She glanced past them and the giant mech, “Everything okay, North?”

Another armored figure appeared from the tunnel exit they had just used, the group lined up in the sights of the sniper rifle he held in front of him, “All clear, Tex.  They’re the only ones.” He called out.

And Simmons knew who he was right away, the voice and the violet armor all too familiar even though he’d only really seen him around the Mother of Invention before and hadn’t directly interacted with him.

Agent North Dakota, formerly of Project Freelancer.

Which no doubt meant that ‘Tex’ probably stood for Agent Texas then.  A soldier he hadn’t encountered personally himself, but had first heard about because she’d somehow thrown a goddamned tank across a field during a training drill.

_We’re fucked._

She turned to them again, as if waiting patiently for something.  The fighter she called Caboose smiled, apparently oblivious to what was actually going on in this tense situation.

Finally, Church let out a ragged sigh and dropped his gun to the floor with a heavy thud, “We surrender.”

“What?  Why?”

Not that Simmons didn’t understand the logic.  Truthfully, he’d been more than a little peeved at Church’s earlier tactical suggestion in regards to when they were just dealing with the assault droid, but he was curious to know what had changed in Church’s mentality with the appearance of these two newcomers even if they were Freelancers considering how the giant mech hadn’t apparently had that much of an impact on him earlier.

Church turned to him wearily, “Because I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance of Freckles over there taking the two of you out first.  Knowing her, she’d gun right for me first just out of spite.”

The woman gave a mock bow, “Aw, you know me so well.  That’s sweet, Church.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

Simmons watched the exchange in confusion, surprised to note that Tex seemed more amused by Church’s comment than angry despite its harshness, “You two…you two know each other then?”

His teammate groaned, “Worse than that.  She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

*****

Surprisingly, for the first time since Grif had joined the Resistance, there were _actual_ prisoners to be had at base.

“First time any Above Grounders have ever surrendered.” Sarge said to his team which he had dubbed the Red Team because of his unhealthy obsession with that color and its various shades except orange.  His color obsession was almost on par with his unnatural love for his shotgun and violence in general, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He almost sounded disappointed.  Maybe Sarge was in a way, on account of how he generally preferred simply shooting things.

“Can you blame them?” Grif asked, not really caring a ton but always in the mood to rile Sarge ( _fair is fair and all that shit_ ), “They were facing Caboose’s killer dog and two Freelancers.  That’s a pretty no-win situation.”

“Of course you’d say that, Grif.” He said disparagingly, “You’re a lazy coward who will never understand how glorious a death it is to die fighting your enemies to the bitter end even when you know you’re done for.”

“I will if you keep ordering me to attack people with no bullets in my gun.”

Sarge sighed, “One can only hope, dirt bag.  One can only hope.”

“Estoy tan contenta de que me construí para este ejército. En serio.” _{“I am so glad I was built for this army.  Seriously.”}_

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Grif was fairly certain Lopez had just insulted all of them.

“Lopez is right, what is going to happen to them now?” Donut asked.

“Yo no he dicho eso. Realmente me podría importar menos.” _{“I didn’t say that at all.  I really could care less.”}_

Sarge harrumphed, arms folded against his chest, “Kimball’s debating on that right now, talking with Tex and the other two Freelancers.” He let out a sigh, an almost worried expression in his eyes, “She’s a hell of a leader when it comes to motivating people, but I worry she might be too soft-hearted for her own good in other ways.”

“And yet she made you second-in-command, so I’d say she’s more desperate than anything else.”

Let alone that she’d recruited people like himself to help fight too, but Grif chose not to say that.

Sarge ignored Grif’s mumbled comment, back straightening, “So, starting today Red Team will be on guard duty until we decide what’s going to happen to them.” He grinned, “And that way, if they’re up to no good, they get to meet my shotgun up close and personal!” he laughed at that part maniacally.

Donut’s brown eyes lit up, “Oh, does that mean we’ll be on shower duty too?” he asked, “Dibs on the soap on a rope!”

Sarge stared at him for a moment, sighing, “Son, what have I told you about your talking points?” he asked.

“Um,” Donut paused and thought about that for a moment, face scrunched in thought, “That I should always stop talking a sentence before I usually do?”

“Yes, or try not talking at all.” He told him, “Silence is golden sometimes and all that.”

Grif wasn’t even going to comment on that exchange because it sort of freaked him out.

*****

The “prison cells” were really just some storage rooms off to the side of the base.  They were located far enough away from everything that any vital intel if it was floating around wouldn’t be overheard (which, on any given day, was largely debatable), but close enough that if there was any sort of commotion they were easily accessible by pretty much everyone in the Resistance.  The doors had been replaced with bars ( _“Oh, old-school!”_ Donut had exclaimed far too jubilantly for the situation when he saw them) that were pulled into a locked position thanks to a nearby computer terminal.

It had been a spot where Grif had snuck a few naps on occasion, so he was sort of bummed that it was occupied now though he assumed guard duty would probably be boring enough that he could get a nap or several in for as long as they were stuck doing it.

At least, he supposed, it got him away from fighting in the tunnels for awhile.  Even if he was stuck doing it for the most part with a perky Donut and a sullen Lopez.  Thankfully, Sarge would only be around every once in awhile given his other duties at base.

The three prisoners had been thoroughly checked over for concealed weapons and their helmets had been removed.  Well, save for the female’s helmet: apparently she was some kind of robot and as a result didn’t have any face under her helmet which had sort of freaked a lot of people out.  They had been separated into three different “cells” for the remainder of their time here.

All of them had glanced up when the replacement guards came, though the man with the cobalt armor and the goatee was the only one to speak.  Grif really wasn’t paying much attention, promptly sitting down on the nearest crate and trying to figure out the best approach to zoning out he could muster in this situation.

“Wow, we really must be a big deal if you three are our guards.”

So the guy was sarcastic and blunt and they were going to be stuck with him for who knows how long.  Fucking great.

“Not exactly our idea of a fun time either, asshole.” He muttered, taking a cue from his sister’s approach to people when they annoyed her for a change.

“Grif, that is rude!” Donut admonished him, hands on hips.

There was a startled, jerky movement in the cell next to Cobalt’s at that.  Grif cracked an eye open, but the figure inside had retreated to the back of the space, their maroon armor barely visible from where he was seated.

He frowned, finding something about that color oddly familiar.

“He started it.” He tore his attention from the visible armor piece to defend himself lamely to Donut, who had started annoyingly tapping his foot on the ground when Grif hadn’t responded to him quickly enough.

“Doesn’t mean you bite back, Grif.”

Cobalt whistled, apparently getting a kick out of the exchange between the two teammates, “That was a great comeback there.”

“You know—“ Grif stood up then and started making his way over to the guy’s cell before Donut could stop him.  Lopez seemed even better at zoning things out than he did, if that were possible.  He could already tell dealing with this jerk was seriously going to get on his nerves if it continued like this.

Grif wasn’t expecting the hand that suddenly shot out and grabbed at his arm from the neighboring cell, the grip both oddly strong and shaking all at once.

He started, about to yell at the Above Grounder to shove off when he saw a familiar, hesitant green eye regarding him with a mixture of disbelief and trepidation.

And suddenly his throat was way too tight and dry, even though his first cognizant thought was _yell and call him a dumbass for leaving like he did without saying anything_.

Instead of that, though, at practically the exact same moment both he and Simmons had gotten their voices back to functioning enough to shout the exact same thing at one another:

“What the fuck are you doing here?!?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** A bit of an evil cliff-hanger of sorts, but I figured I would stop it there at the exact “reunion” moment so that I can spend the next chapter really going into what happens afterwards. Sorry about that though! XD
> 
> Also, this is the first chapter where I wrote from the perspective of a character other than Grif and Simmons (Washington, in this case). That will probably be occurring with more frequency in future chapters since there are so many points to the story and it will be impossible to really go into them without having other character POVs. I am going to be limiting it to a small number of characters, though, to keep things from getting out of hand. I am thinking probably Washington, Tucker, C.T., Church, and York will get POVs at times given their connections to various plot-lines and maybe Felix once I decide on his story more too, but that will be about it. Though everyone else will still be quite important to the story, of course! :) And, naturally, since they’re the two main characters and everything, the main focus will still be on Grif and Simmons throughout. :D
> 
> But that’s why I had a Washington POV sneak its way into this chapter when I hadn’t been writing from him before, in case anyone was wondering about it. I hope I didn’t write him too badly, he’s going to go through a lot of development cycles throughout the timeline of this fic. XD
> 
> So, yep, actual Grimmons interactions in the next chapter and other things will happen too! Thank you very much for reading this fic and I hope that this chapter was enjoyable for you. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Six:

Honestly?  Grif wasn’t sure what he really wanted to do in this situation.

Simmons was standing there, death-grip still tight around his arm.  Both of their faces were tinged red from the loud, simultaneous outburst they had just shouted at one another.

The pale face before him was contorted vividly with a wide range of emotions all at once: shock, disbelief, worry, anxiousness, anger, frustration.  He had no doubt his own looked rather similar.

Grif’s mind was drawing a blank on finding anything to say.  After all, up until this point he’d been about ninety-percent sure he would never see Richard “Dick” Simmons again.  He’d sort of hoped so, really, given that he knew Simmons had planned on going into the military: seeing him under circumstances like this after so long was akin to a massive punch to the gut.

It seemed like their little shouting match had been as articulate as things might get for the moment.  He swallowed, his throat dry.  When he opened his mouth again he promptly closed it.

Simmons was practically shaking all over, but his hold on his arm was still vice-like.  Grif was almost surprised that he could even feel it through his armor.  Then there was that weird red eye and the odd patch of way too white skin bereft of the freckles that still dotted the rest of Simmons’ face-- _what the hell was up with that?_

Neither of them had noticed that no one else was saying or doing anything in the aftermath of their exchange.

Donut stood stock still and frozen, hands held up to his face with his mouth forming an almost comical “O” shape in response.  The female robot in the green and grey outfit tilted her head to the side, almost in a mildly curious gesture.  She was in the cell on the opposite side of the room, directly facing them on the side where Donut and Grif had first set themselves up for “watch duty” earlier.

Even Lopez, who had apparently decided to remain in the open doorway of the prison area instead of venturing inside, actually took a few steps in upon hearing the shouting-- probably just to see what was going on.

It was the man in the cobalt armor, leaning at an angle on the bars of his cell so that he could get as full a view of what was happening the next cell over as he could, who finally broke the tense silence.

“What?  You two know each other?” he glanced at what little he could see of Simmons with a begrudging sort of respect.  After all, there was really only one way for an Above Grounder to have an acquaintanceship with someone from The Slums: he probably hadn’t even thought sneaking down here was something his more timid teammate was capable of without a military order to do so.

The question broke the weird, still moment the two other men had been stuck in.

Suddenly, Simmons seemed to realize that he’d been hanging onto Grif’s arm the entire time, his face becoming that same tomato red hue that Grif still remembered from when they were teenagers (save the far too white portion of his face, which remained colorless) and he pulled his hand away quickly as if touching Grif had somehow burned him, looking incredibly sheepish.  He retreated further into the cell, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

And, arm suddenly free, Grif’s body reacted before his mind could regain control and scream at him for being an idiot when there was so much he wanted to say and probably far too little time for it, really.

He ran.

*****

“G-Grif, hey, wait!  Where are you going?” the pink-armored soldier ( _okay, seriously, that was a weird color for battle armor in general_ ), called after his chubby teammate worriedly.

Church sighed, really not wanting to deal with any of this bizarre drama on top of all of the other bullshit he was going to be dealing with already, “I don’t know what the fuck’s up with those two, but I’d let him go for now.” He advised the younger man.  He thought the guy’s name was something strange like “Donut” or something: the blonde had gone through an oddly cheerful introduction sequence for himself when the three Resistance members had shown up for guard duty, but Church hadn’t been paying too much attention at the time.

Donut (what the hell, he was just going with that for him now) frowned, casting an anxious glance past the brown-armored fighter’s frame in the doorway, “But…”

“Your teammate probably just needs time to think.” He raised a black eyebrow and addressed his next question to the person in the cell beside his, “Isn’t that right, Simmons?”

Simmons said nothing in response, seeming to have retreated inside of himself for the time being.

That caused him to shoot Donut a triumphant “ _told you so, kid”_ look.

Jesus, he really didn’t want to play babysitter to everyone right now: not for his teammates, and definitely not people who were technically his enemies.  He also certainly did not want to get involved in some kind of relationship squabble.

“Does your knowledge of human relationships come from your involvement with Agent Texas, Church?” Sheila inquired.

Damn it, leave it to polite-as-always Sheila to unintentionally pour salt on that still festering wound.

If Tex were here, she’d probably be laughing her ass off at the whole thing.  It was strange how that thought amused him more than it frustrated him.

He laughed mirthlessly, “The only knowledge I learned from my involvement with Tex is that I needed to keep a good eye on my credit chip and that I needed to know how to duck quickly.  A lot.”

Yeah, their relationship had definitely had some rough patches.  Some fun times too though.  Odd how both of those categories usually involved some bruising though.

“Ducking probablemente no ayudó mucho.” _{“Ducking probably didn’t help much.”}_

The brown-armored guy (from his electronic sounding voice, Church figured he was probably a robot unless he was filtering his actual vocals like how Tex used to) spoke up, but Church had no real idea what exactly he’d just said.

“Nah, I don’t think he meant ducking in a fun way either, Lopez.” Donut said in response.

The robot looked at him briefly and it seemed as if he almost sighed in frustration given his body language.

“Realmente deseo que no había entendido eso.” _{“I really wish I hadn’t understood that.”}_

Sheila turned slightly to regard Lopez, “Agreed.  Agent Tex rarely misses in physical combat.” she said, nodding as a reply to Lopez’s earlier statement.  Apparently she just decided to ignore the whole side conversation with Donut or perhaps she just didn’t process what it really meant to begin with.

The other robot stared at her, as if surprised by getting an actually accurate response for once to something he had said.  Church had the feeling that didn’t probably often happen too much if his reaction to Donut’s comment was any indication.

She gave a polite sort of bow, “It is a pleasure to meet a fellow robot even under these conditions.” That smile was still in her voice, “You can call me Sheila.”

“De repente me siento sudoroso.” _{“Suddenly I feel sweaty.”}_

“That is strange.” She regarded him curiously, “Perhaps your internal temperature systems are malfunctioning?”

“Y ahora me voy en shock.” _{“And now I am going into shock.”}_

And while Donut wasn’t really the most accurate Spanish translator in the world from what Church had seen, he apparently knew enough about what Lopez was saying and was able to interpret the robot’s body language to make a fairly astute guess on the sudden change in the air.

“Aw, I think Lopez might be getting a little crush on someone!” his voice took on a happy, sing-song quality.

That was just fucking perfect.

Church groaned, slamming his head against the bars of his cell despite how that sort of hurt without a helmet on in a vain attempt to remove the last several minutes of his life from his mind, “Can’t you people just fucking shoot us now and get it over with?”

*****

Tex seemed to be in a _great mood_ by the time the conversation with Kimball was over with, if the scowl darkening her expression was any indication.

York gave her a sympathetic look, already knowing it would be ignored when she stormed over to a chair and practically threw her body onto it.

It wasn’t that Tex was angry at Kimball or anything.  Far from it actually, Kimball had listened and agreed to all of their suggestions on what to do next.  No, she was just really pissed off at the situation as a whole.

He couldn’t blame her for that, not really.  This was a situation that could get messy real quick and didn’t promise a lot of pleasant outcomes for them.

“They were sent down here for a reason.” She finally said, harsh brown eyes staring at the wall.

“They were Florida’s group, I think.” York frowned, squinting his one good eye in thought.

He hadn’t known them personally since the group hadn’t really been associated with Project Freelancer.  Florida had volunteered to be a captain on his own free time and he had seemed to genuinely enjoy the role despite the extra work that put on his shoulders.  York hadn’t really understood why: maybe the whole thing had just been Florida’s way of keeping himself grounded in the face of all of the secrets and lies surrounding the program.

He’d never know for certain, now.

Hearing about Florida’s death had been a really bad blow, especially with the Resistance cover cleverly put up over it.

“The mission briefing we found on them seems genuine enough and I’d know if that idiot Church was hiding something.  Besides, the one in the maroon armor seems like he would be a terrible liar to boot given how nervous he was.” She tapped her finger on her leg absentmindedly, “Which means if the computer had been turned off manually in the first place like they said it was, it was definitely some kind of set-up.”

“But why?”

This was all information they had relayed to Kimball already, save a few details best kept amongst themselves for the moment.

York almost wished that North was here too to discuss this with them.  It certainly would save having to relay the whole matter to him once again later if nothing else, but North had been pulled away by Caboose immediately after the meeting with Kimball with the younger Resistance fighter talking quickly and excitedly about wanting someone to go with him to find his “new best friend.”

Judging by the hesitant look that had been on his friend’s face, York imagined that North was probably trying to come up with a polite way to explain the whole concept of “prisoners” to Caboose-- which he did not envy him for in the slightest given that it probably would just go over the poor kid’s head anyways, regardless.

“If they were under Florida’s command, then that means they probably just got cycled under the Freelancer umbrella once he was declared KIA.” Tex muttered.

“You think the Director…?” he trailed off, not bothering to finish the sentence.  His meaning was still fairly evident.

The Director was a man who wanted results, no matter how he came upon them.  It wasn’t impossible to think he might have set this whole thing up on purpose for some reason only fathomable to him.

She frowned, “I don’t know who did it, but I am fairly certain this whole fiasco was a test of some sort.  I don’t think it was a coincidence that Florida’s team happened to be picked for it.”

York picked up on her train of thought, “It has something to do with Project Freelancer.”

“Either they wanted the mission to go south as an excuse to attack directly, which is a pretty good possibility,” she said thoughtfully, “Or they wanted to test a theory on one of this team’s members in particular.”

He knew who she was referring to, if only because of the bits and pieces Tex had been willing to disclose to both of her fellow defectors when they had initially agreed to help her: “You mean Church, right?”

Her back stiffened and her mouth became a thin, tight line-- and he knew he was correct in his assumption.  “Someone probably made an educated guess about him and they wanted to test him to see their theory was right.” York surmised.

Not the Director, then.  He already damn well knew.

Was there a power-play going on amidst the higher-ups in Above Ground government then?  Only they’d have ready access to confidential information even the best of the best Freelancers weren’t privy to, and they would also have the authority to use the disable codes for surveillance computers as well.

Figured, if Project Freelancer was corrupt as all fuck, why not other parts of the military and government on the surface too?

He was certain Delta would have something profound and infuriatingly logical to say about it all.  It was times like this one when he missed the green little cockbite the most.

“Too bad for whoever it is.  He’s already far too broken for them to be able to use him anymore.” There was an odd tinge that almost came across as sadness in Tex’s voice and she pointedly turned her head so that he couldn’t see her expression.

York understood her regret all the same, but knew addressing it would be a mistake.  Tex could do incredible things, but her failures were what drove her.  She had far too many of them in her mind, all of which cost others far more than they cost herself.

Instead, he said gently, “He doesn’t know, does he?”

She shook her head once, “Probably better that he doesn’t.”

_Only so much one person can take.  Not remembering, having false memories of a life that hadn’t really happened.  It was probably the only way he could cope with a situation that wasn’t livable anymore._

York could understand why she didn’t want Church to know when looking at it from that perspective.

“Are you going to visit him then?” he asked, feeling emboldened by the fact that she hadn’t told him to drop this topic of conversation that was a tad more personal than she liked going usually, “Since he’s here and everything?”

She fixed him with a blank look, face as unreadable as a sheet of metal.

“Would you visit Carolina if she were here?”

And he grinned in a sheepish, dorky way and Tex couldn’t help but groan knowing she had walked right into that one herself.

Of course he would.  York was a hopeless romantic, through and through.

He probably would still be at the Mother of Invention, begging Carolina to see reason if their former leader hadn’t knocked him unconscious during their last exchange.

Finally, Tex replied to his question, “I might later.” She frowned, “Not sure what I’d say though.”

“I find that ’Hello’ is a pretty good icebreaker.” He joked slightly, the grin on his face now a friendly one.

She shot him a look that clearly said “ _And how long have you known me?_ ” while arching one of her red eyebrows.

Though they didn’t look really similar in his mind, he had to stop himself from seeing Carolina in the gesture: how often had she shot him a look with the same kind of meaning behind it, red eyebrows raised and an amused, exasperated look in her green eyes.

_Constantly, when they’d first met.  Not as much as he’d hoped, towards the end._

Maybe Delta had been right: on top of being a hopeless romantic, he was an illogical one to boot.  The green guy had gotten on his nerves all the time, but damn it did he miss having him around to talk to now.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to that constant bond after the implantation surgery.

Though, truthfully, he figured most human beings were pretty illogical when it came to love.

That was probably part of what made them human.

“I’m on guard duty with Blue Team later on anyways, so I’ll think of something to say by then.” Tex informed him, breaking through his thoughts with her clear voice, “Right now, though, we have to focus on other tasks.”

He started, looking at her.  Once more, her expression was its usual fierce combination of grim and determined.

“Kimball was right.  If Freelancer is involved in this in any remote way, we have to be prepared for the fallout.”

*****

“Dude, what the hell?”

Grif frowned, not bothering to look up at Tucker from his spot on the ground.

It figures his friend knew him well enough to have uncovered his second “super secret” naptime spot: a small alcove off to the side of the tunnels that made up the Resistance base.

“Oh, hey, Tucker.” He kind of really hoped that his friend was just here more to be a killjoy to his laziness than anything else.  He really didn’t want to deal with certain topics and any weird lingering feelings that resulted from them right now, “Did you get Junior home safe and sound?”

“You already know I did.  That’s why I’m back!” he gave Grif a pointed look, “Don’t try to change the subject, dumbass.”

“Um,” he wondered how long he could drag this out, “What are you talking about?”

“Caboose was talking all energetically with North about his new best friend or some shit so I got dragged to where they’re keeping the Above Grounders too.”

Damn, so much for any remote chance of avoiding it.

“Donut said you ran screaming for the hills a little while ago.”

He raised an eyebrow, “I did _not_ run screaming.”

Tucker scoffed, “I know, dude.  I’ve seen you run: it barely qualifies as a fast walk half the time.”

“I get winded very easily.”

“Yeah, whatever, it’s called exercising every once in a while, fatass!”

“Like you exercise that much?” he knew his friend did exercise sometimes and ran drills, but he also knew Tucker could be a pro at avoiding physical work just as much as he was when he really wasn’t motivated to do anything.

“I did with your sister the other night, bow-chika-bow- _OW_!” Tucker grimaced when Grif’s foot collided with his knee, “Man, you suck!”

“Bad joke, Tucker.” His orange-armored friend glared at him.

Tucker shot him a grin despite the pain in his brown eyes from the kick.  For a lazy fuck, Grif sure could make things hurt when he felt like it, “Figured being a smartass would get you to react a little.”

Grif said nothing at that and Tucker sighed, his expression turning serious, “I saw him.”

He pressed on when that didn’t get a response from Grif, “The guy in the maroon armor.  He’s that pasty, nervous kid who stayed at your apartment that one time, isn’t he?  The one you were practically married to.”

 _That_ got the tan man to look up at him, “We were _not_ married.”

Tucker raised a black eyebrow, “Oh, come on, even Kai said it-- maybe not to you directly, but definitely to me.  You were sleeping together and everything!”

“In the same room, that’s all!”

Jesus, what the fuck had Kai been telling people?  He made a mental note to have a chat with his little sister the next time he had a day off.

“Whatever, dude.  I call them like I see them, and the two of you seemed pretty fucking domestic whenever I saw you guys together.”

“Tucker…” he began.

But Tucker wouldn’t let him get a word in beyond that this time, looking at him askance, “Is that why you ran then?  You freaked out because he’s here?”

Grif closed his mouth quickly, feeling heat on his face and getting really embarrassed at the reaction especially in light of Tucker’s earlier comments.

It had been stupid to run like that.  Then again, it wasn’t like Simmons hadn’t frozen up either.

He just—he hadn’t expected to ever see the Above Grounder redhead again and certainly never under these conditions.

He still remembered their last conversation all too vividly: the visible relief on the other teen’s face when Grif had said he had no intention of getting involved with the Resistance.

Things had changed and he wouldn’t fucking take back his decision now, but remembering that somehow made him feel like a hypocrite all the same.

Seeing Simmons again had twisted a whole lot of things up for him, truthfully.  Now he wasn’t sure he could keep viewing the other side of this conflict as a bunch of anonymous assholes after what had happened in Level One and with Tucker’s mom in particular.

No, _now_ he had to interact with some of them directly thanks to this prisoner hoopla and one of them had a face that instantly reminded him of events that still came back to him all too clearly despite how many years had gone by since they’d happened.

Fuck it.

Tucker knew him well enough to accurately guess at what he was thinking, “You probably should try talking to him.  Just to get closure and all that shit.”

Grif sighed, knowing he was probably right about that.

“Besides, if Sarge finds out you skirted on a mission he considers to be of the utmost importance, I am pretty sure he actually _will_ shoot you.”

And he was probably right about that too.

Dexter Grif groaned and sat up, regarding Tucker with a somewhat impressed look, “Since when did you actually start making valid points?”

“I have a kid now and I’m partnered with Caboose.  It was bound to happen eventually.” He gave a self-deprecating grin, “Though I wouldn’t count on it all the time, dumbass.”

*****

_Shit, shit, shit, shit!_

Simmons was surprised that he could still make sense of that word in his thoughts, with the frequency of its constant repetition there currently.

It was bad enough that the mission had gone horribly wrong, bad enough that they’d been taken prisoner.  He could almost see the look of disgust and looming disapproval on Agent Carolina’s face: it was not at all shocking when hers somehow morphed into his father’s.

But Grif was here too on top of that.  Hell, he’d had to fucking go so far as to _touch_ him just to make sure.  Like an idiot.

And there were so many things he’d wanted to say and do in that moment, that exclamation only the tip of the iceberg.  So what did he do instead?

Freak out and retreat as far away from Grif as possible, like the pathetic, socially anxious dumbass that he was.

 No wonder Grif ran away at the next available moment.

From outside of the cell, he could hear varying degrees of chatter.

Despite the circumstances, Sheila seemed to be relishing the chance to interact with another rather advanced robot.  It had never occurred to him before now, but maybe she had felt lonely surrounded only by humans in Above Ground?  He’d ask her later, if he could work up the nerve to do so.

The brown-armored robot called Lopez would say something in Spanish and she would respond with a fluent understanding of what he’d said despite the conversation sounding oddly one-sided on both ends since they were still speaking completely different languages.  The wonders of computer translation software, he supposed.

The man in pink armor who was named Donut was happily humming a tune under his breath.  The younger Resistance fighter would occasionally cast a sympathetic, kind-hearted look his way but thankfully didn’t approach him.  Simmons wasn’t sure if he could deal with talking to anyone at the moment, especially not to overly-curious strangers.

“And then, when this is all over and the nice lady lets you out, we can go play fetch with Freckles together!  He loves playing with his balls.”

“Don’t we all?” Donut asked in response, brown eyes twinkling merrily.

Simmons was going to really try to pretend he hadn’t heard that.

“For the love of God, shut up!”

Well, he supposed it could be worse: he could be stuck in Church’s position.  The blond-haired young man in blue armor had come by to visit them and had immediately gravitated over to Church’s cell.  Evidently he lived on base, which only about half of the Resistance apparently did on a permanent basis.  So now Caboose was engaging Church in active conversation, along with some occasional innuendo-filled commentary from Donut.

Maybe having a freak-out was at least good for some things, after all, since he seemed to be ignored.  Thank goodness for small miracles, Simmons guessed.

“Kimball is nice like that.” Caboose continued talking, not really paying attention to Church’s growing frustration, “Everyone here is nice though, even the mean lady.”

“I’m sure you’re all real charitable acts.” Church groaned and rubbed his eyes, “That’s why you’re fighting a goddamned war.”

There was a heavy silence and Church removed his eyes from his hands and glanced out at the prison beyond with what seemed like a mild curiosity to see why things had gotten so quiet.  Simmons could only partially see him though, given the spacing of the neighboring cells to each other and Church’s angle to the bars, though it was enough to see the other man pale slightly at what he saw.

Simmons had a clearer view of the others than he did of Church: he was surprised to see a rather hurt and offended look cross over Donut’s face at the comment.  He honestly hadn’t been sure the kid could even feel negative emotions all that deeply before given how he normally acted.  The two robots had fallen silent as well, though it was impossible to read any expressions from them naturally due to their helmets.

And Caboose-- well, the poor guy looked as if he had just witnessed someone running over a basket of puppies and then hit reverse just to make sure they had finished the job.

“Er…” Church must have seen that too and was backtracking in his head to figure out something to say.  He could be an asshole sometimes, Simmons knew from personal experience, but he wasn’t _that_ much of an asshole.

“It was the people living up there that started it.” Caboose’s voice had an odd tinge of clarity to it that usually wasn’t present when he spoke, his words holding a lot of meaning despite their more simplistic and childish phrasing.

He was right too and everyone knew it: technically the Insurrection had started things when they launched an attack on Above Ground, but the response to that by the Council and the military had been nightmarish.

No doubt most of the people who made up the Resistance now had been affected by the massacre at Level One.

He thought of Grif and his throat constricted a little.

Thinking about that event at all often made him question what he was doing here, what he was fighting for.  He tried not to, really.  It was easier to convince himself that if he rose high enough in the ranks maybe he could illicit some kind of positive change.  Never mind how that was clearly a pipe dream by this point.

“Look, I’m…” Church seemed to be struggling for the right words at the moment, “Sorry, okay?  It’s just a little frustrating being stuck here.”

Caboose’s eyes glimmered slightly, though his overall expression still looked crestfallen.

“You said you liked coloring, right?” the cobalt-armored man asked, recalling their earlier conversation with Caboose in the tunnels, “If you bring some crayons with you next time, we’ll draw together.  Does that sound good?”

It was Church’s odd, awkward way of extending a peace offering and, despite himself, Simmons couldn’t help the watery smile forming on his face at having witnessed such a rare occurrence from his teammate.  No doubt the whole thing had made Leonard Church extremely uncomfortable.

The gesture worked though because the hopeful look in Caboose’s blue eyes flooded over his entire face at the suggestion.

“That will be so much fun!” he exclaimed happily, “I will bring paper too.  I can’t wait!”

He swore he heard Church let out a quiet sigh of relief though Simmons knew he would vehemently deny it if he ever tried mentioning it to him, and he glanced over at Donut to see that the other blond Resistance fighter was also smiling slightly again with a look of relief in his eyes.  Sheila and Lopez resumed talking to one another now that the tense situation had been diffused.

It was then that someone else approached his cell, having completely caught Simmons off-guard while he’d been preoccupied with his own thoughts as well as the sudden change in the exchange between Church and the simple-minded Caboose.

He started, having to fight the instinctive urge to shrink to the far back of the enclosed space again when he saw who it was.

Grif looked as if he was fighting an inner battle with himself as he stood there, his tan face contorting into several different expressions before he finally got up the nerve to say something.

“Hey,” he began, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, “We need to fucking talk.”

*****

“Hey, are you even listening to me at all?”

C.T. glanced over at the annoyed tone in South Dakota’s voice.  The other Freelancer was glaring at her, the scowl on her face seemingly permanent these days.

She wasn’t sure if that was to do with her twin brother’s defection or just the general state of things at the Mother of Invention right now and she really didn’t want to risk asking.

Agent South Dakota had always had the reputation for being a powder keg about to explode, especially compared to her brother’s calmer demeanor.  Now she was even more volatile than ever.  Talking to her about anything always seemed a risky move anymore.

She smiled apologetically, hoping to diffuse the situation somewhat, “Sorry, lost in my own thoughts again.”

South’s pale blue eyes still flashed with annoyance, but she begrudgingly accepted her teammate’s apology, “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

The brunette closed her locker, staring at her designation on the door before her, “I think all of us have a lot on our minds these days.”

She managed to make herself sound neutral, voice even.  She could almost clap herself on the fucking back for her performance.

“True enough.”

South didn’t mention North, she noticed, though her expression did cloud over with a look that Connecticut really couldn’t read.  She absentminded flicked a strand of blond hair out of her face, the end of it dyed a shade of purple closely resembling the orchid that was her armor’s signature color.

South never mentioned him anymore, actually.  It was odd in a way to think back on how the two of them had often been together more often than not, to seeing one sibling so completely isolated.

Then again, it was still hard to wrap her head around that South had shot North in the back and ripped his A.I. chip out too.

Freelancer was good at creating divisions between people, just like the city that housed the project was capable of doing.

With that kind of thinking, no wonder she had been so willing to listen to _him_ all those years ago.  A small part of her regretted that now.  Most of her didn’t still, though, for all that it was worth.

“So, what were you saying exactly?”

Best to put on the friendly face and stay on everyone’s good side for a little while longer.  _Us girls have to stay together and all that, huh?_

She already made it a habit to let South walk first in the halls and out on the field.

“I was just saying that I wish Carolina would make a fucking move that actually would _do_ something instead of these piddly-ass missions.” South’s eyes practically burned a hole in her locker when she slammed it closed with unnecessary force, “I’m itching for a real fight.”

That was probably a gross understatement given how dented her poor locker’s door was looking these days.

“Everything is still in disarray here after what happened with Maine and…” she paused, noticing the sharp warning look South threw her way predicting what she was most likely about to mention and quickly changed her intended phrasing, “Everything else that’s happened.”

The taller woman scoffed, “Yeah, and thanks to Maine going off the deep-end and all that, plus Washington’s fuck-up, the A.I. implantation program’s on hold now too.”

C.T. wasn’t sure how having a surgery go horribly wrong somehow counted as someone “fucking up,” but she chose to keep her mouth shut on that.

She suddenly understood a little more why Washington often tended to avoid South the most out of all of the Freelancers still in particular—thanks, in part, to the bitterness in her teammate’s tone when it came to simply talking about him.

“Knowing Carolina, she’s probably just as itching for a fight, so I’m sure we’ll get bigger missions once they’re allowed.” She said, hoping to divert some of South’s frustration away from their remaining comrades, however loose that term was for all of them now.

No doubt Carolina wanted to settle the score with a certain black-armored former Freelancer in particular.  C.T. glanced at South, wondering if she wanted to the same thing with North or if the bullet in his back during his defection had been enough for her.

“I hope it’s fucking soon, then.” She said, “Or else I’m going to have to start punching random people in the halls.”

With that cheery mental image, South gave a small wave in C.T.’s direction and left.

She sighed, feeling a bit more at ease now that she wasn’t trying to navigate a temperamental social minefield at the moment.

That was, until the hidden, secure channel not-at-all-military-approved communicator located on her armor’s right forearm beeped once.

It was a low sound, almost a whistle that could be misinterpreted as any sort of the different digital background noises one could feasibly hear and probably tune out in places as technologically advanced as a base like the Mother of Invention, but she had trained her ears to listen for it awhile ago more distinctly so that she could tell the difference.

It only ever went off when something urgent was happening as it was far too risky to use too much given who was sending the messages and from where.

Frowning, she opened her locker and put on her helmet once more: tapping on the underside of her right forearm’s armored covering in a way that seemed to be for all intents and purposes a nervous habit to anyone else who might see it.  She’d practiced going through the motions when not receiving communications as well, just to reinforce the idea that it was a gesture she did repeatedly to avoid suspicion.  Eventually the message display came up in front of her face.

The communiqué was short and, even though it was just a collection of words on a digital screen, came across just as terse as the woman who sent them often did.

She let out a sharp breath, her stomach turning.  She wasn’t quite sure what was more upsetting: the situation Tex was describing in general or the fact that she’d been out of the loop again until just now.

Freelancer was fucking secretive all right, even when it came to missions that were supposed to be more routine in theory.

It wasn’t really a surprise she’d started becoming suspicious of the project when she began to notice those sorts of activities and the divide forming between its members.  In a way she was just more surprised that no one else seemed to have started putting two-and-two together until far too late.

“C.T. .”

Washington’s voice came from behind her and she practically jumped, having been too engrossed in what she had been reading to notice his presence.

Then again, ever since his surgery and subsequent very extended recovery period, Washington had been becoming progressively more adept at stealth in general.  He was sometimes doing better in that department than she was and that was the one combat skill of hers that C.T. took some measure of pride in.

It was almost as if he was trying to emulate the cats he had adored so much when they were kids growing up together: the ones with the pictures he still had hanging fondly in his locker despite all the teasing it used to get him from the others.  Back when he was still David.

She missed those days now.  Hell, she’d even let him call her Connie again if it meant she’d have a bit more of her old childhood friend back.  Even if that name had taken on a different meaning for her when it had been spoken fondly by someone else a while ago, even if thinking about that name still hurt sharply.

“W—what?” she could have kicked herself for the shakiness in her voice as she hit her forearm, using her surprise motion to cover up the act.

The message display shut down.  She’d have to figure out a good time to reply back to Tex as soon as possible.

Washington said nothing for a long while, staring at her fully-armored figure with an unreadable expression on his face and in his gray eyes.

She swallowed nervously, suddenly reminded of another time when he’d caught the tail-end of an actual vocal communication between herself and someone else very different from Tex.

He hadn’t said anything then beyond expressing concern over her decision, but who could tell now with the changes in Washington what he would do if he suspected something strange was going on?  Especially since he didn’t seem to trust anyone anymore as far as he could throw them.

Finally, he said, “There’s a new mission briefing.  Top priority.”

“Oh, okay then.”

Never mind that she had just come back from a routine assignment with South then.  Thanks to the intel she’d just read over, she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what this mission briefing was going to be about.

“We’d better get going.”

She walked past Washington as steadily as she could, ignoring that his eyes were still fixed on her for a few seconds afterwards before he moved to catch up.  She really didn’t want to think that he knew or suspected anything, after all.  She wasn’t sure how she would react to that-- or how he would, for that matter.

It looked like South was going to get her wish for more combat sooner rather than later.

*****

Tucker wasn’t the most active fighter in the Resistance.  Sure, he’d do his part because he fucking volunteered for this shit for a reason, but anything past that?  Generally he had to be pretty motivated.

So it was a little surprising that he found himself heading over to the newly erected ( _okay, he had to stop himself from snickering at his own thoughts there_ ) prison area well before the time of Blue Team’s ( _named oh-so-creatively for his and Caboose’s colored armors_ ) designated guard duty.

Maybe it was because he wanted to make sure his lazy-ass friend had taken his advice, maybe it was because he was bored because Junior wasn’t here, or because Freckles was guarding the outer tunnels of the base and he preferred being as far away from a giant robot that thought shooting tennis balls out of the air equated to a game of “fetch,” or perhaps it had to do with the fact that Caboose was probably already there so he might as well get it over with too.

He was pretty much an all or nothing sort of guy, so take your pick.

“Hey, Tucker, fancy seeing you here so early!” Donut greeted him cheerfully when he showed up.  How the guy could remain so perky after five hours or so of guard duty watching prisoners who weren’t really that interesting, Tucker would never know, “If you came for a shower inspection you’ll be sorely disappointed.  They haven’t been installed yet.”

“That was definitely not an image I needed in my head, Donut.”

“Hygiene is very serious, you know.  Helps you stretch better in all the right places.” The pink-armored soldier said matter-of-factly, “Want me to show you how?”

“Dude, please stop.” Tucker suppressed a groan and looked around the area.

He was surprised to see Lopez hanging around the cell of the Above Ground robot.  It was a shame she turned out to be one too: her figure was pretty _fine_ in that armor.

“What the fuck’s going on there?”

Donut beamed, stage whispering which Tucker was fairly certain that was the only kind of whispering Franklin Delano Donut knew how to do, “I think Lopez is in love!  Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”

‘Sweet’ wasn’t exactly the word he’d have used to describe it, more like ‘odd’ given the whole being a robot issue.  But Tucker knew how much of a romantic Donut was when it came to that sort of thing, so if gushing over it made him happy who was he to judge?

“Speaking of which,” Donut tilted his head to the other side of the large storage area that was serving as the Resistance prison, “Grif’s been talking to that Simmons guy nonstop since he came back.”

He glanced over there, sure enough seeing his friend’s orange-armored back as he seemed to be animatedly discussing something with the cell’s occupant.  He was glad the dumbass had actually listened to him for once.

“They knew each other from awhile back.  Probably just catching up.” He said in response to Donut’s comment.

Donut looked unconvinced, “I don’t know.  They seem _awfully_ close.” He looked at Tucker with an eager, hopeful look in his brown eyes, “Do you think there’s something going on there?”

Tucker couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face.  Considering Grif’s earlier reaction to his “married couple” comment, he could only imagine how he’d react to what Donut had just said.

“Dunno, you’d have to ask Kai.” He told him, “She has all the details about what happened between them the last time.”

Donut was about to ask him something again when Caboose bounded forward.

“Tucker, I’d like you to meet my new friend!” he exclaimed excitedly, “He is also wearing a shade of blue!  A real one this time!”

Oh, the old “whatever-color-Tucker-is-wearing-doesn’t-really-count-as-blue” argument.  Tucker sighed, letting Caboose drag him away from the ‘lightish-red’ member of Red Team.

“Hey, Tucker,” Donut called out to him, “Since you’re here early, I’m going to go grab the cookies I baked earlier.”

He nodded and Donut ran off.  With Caboose hanging out here like they’re back in school, and the four ‘lovebirds’ chatting away Tucker supposed it only made a strange sort of sense that Donut would view the whole thing as a messed up slumber party.  Not that he probably wouldn’t have regardless, given his general outlook on things.

It almost made him wish he’d kept Junior with him for today.  _Almost_.  He wasn’t dumb enough to not know how badly the whole situation could go in a moment’s notice.

Case in point: Tex of all people was going to be joining Blue Team for guard duty later.  He imagined that was going to kill the fun real quick.

“Church, this is Tucker, the one I told you about!” Caboose shoved him in front of the cell of a man with a black goatee and cobalt armor, “He is very nice, even if does not really have a dog.”

Church raised an eyebrow and smirked, “So you’re on his team, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Sucks to be you.”

He wasn’t sure if he should be amused or annoyed at the sarcastic comment, but Tucker wasn’t one to not bite back, “I don’t know, dude, at least I’m not some asshole stuck in here having to listen to him nonstop.”

There was almost something akin to respect in Church’s eyes at the comeback.

“See, everyone is getting along so great!” Caboose exclaimed happily.

He continued, “But, since that’s the case and I suppose that could qualify as inhumane punishment or some bullshit…here.”

Tucker tossed two small objects at Church as a sort of peace offering, both of which the other guy barely caught.

“What are they?” he looked at the small, squishy objects suspiciously.

“Earplugs.  Use them or don’t use them, I really don’t give a fuck.”

The Above Grounder looked at him somewhat gratefully, “You know, I have this weird feeling that we could almost get along.”

“I don’t know.  I mean, if Caboose is your best friend that means your standards must be pretty fucking high.”

“He also dated the mean lady!” Caboose chimed in.

“Seriously?” Tucker regarded Church carefully at that, unsure of whether or not he was impressed or just in shock that the other guy was even still alive.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He grumbled bitterly.

He whistled then, having a newfound sort of respect for Church, “I’m not sure if your standards are high or you just have all sorts of shit luck.”

*****

Tex stopped walking abruptly and York looked sideways at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her, teasing somewhat, “Cold feet?”

They were on their way to the prison cells, as Tex had volunteered to go on guard duty with Blue Team since they were undermanned.  It was probably a good idea: knowing Caboose, he’d try playing with the buttons the second Tucker wasn’t paying attention and open all the cells.  Or somehow blow the people in them up, his mysterious setting things on fire ability with most machines was legendary.  It was a surprise Freckles hadn’t considered him a threat the second the assault droid had seen him given that.

She ignored his joke (which was no doubt good for him from a health stance: it was always a gamble joking with Tex), her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“No.” she said curtly.  She had her helmet on.  She liked wearing it whenever dealing with more personal issues, he had noticed, and was staring out ahead of her at nothing, “Change of plans, York.  We’re finding North and Kimball first.”

He was surprised at the urgent tone in her voice, “Okay.  Why though?”

“Just got a message from C.T..  An extraction plan is already underway.”

Shit, that was not going to be good for anyone, especially this soon.

York seriously hoped there would be enough time to prepare, though he expected not.

After all, Carolina was involved, and if there were two things she excelled at in combat it was speed and efficiency.

The third thing would be brutality when it came to her attack style, which wasn’t really that great to be on the receiving end of either-- no matter how good she looked doing it.

He frowned, shaking those thoughts from his head quickly, “Let’s get moving then.”

*****

“So, um…how are things?” Simmons asked lamely, mentally kicking himself for it moments later.

He hasn’t seen Grif in so long and that’s the first thing his brain could think of to say?

Of course, he supposed he should be grateful he managed to get anything remotely articulate out at all.  He damn well near puked when Grif had shown up at his cell again after their first disastrous exchange.

Grif seemed more amused by the question than anything else, “Can’t complain too much.  You?”

Simmons knew that really probably wasn’t true, especially given all of the years and events that had passed since the last time the two of them had talked, but he focused on the question directed at him first.

How were things going for him?  Horrible, really.  He’d lost his captain, lost his mother, had lost most of his humanity ( _had thought he’d lost Grif until a few moments ago_ ), been captured by the enemy.

Couldn’t say any of that at the moment yet, of course.

Instead, similar to Grif, all he said was, “Um, good.  I’m, uh, good.”

Grif seemed to be able to see right through him at that.  He always had been able to really.  Simmons had been surprised at how accurately Grif could read him during their time together before.  He has always been _terrified_ Grif would notice his reactions to certain exchanges in particular the more they had hung out together.

Grif raised a black eyebrow incredulously, “Bullshit you’re doing fine, Simmons.” He said matter-of-factly, “Look at where you are now, for fuck’s sake!”

The anger in his friend’s tone caused Simmons’ face to heat up in embarrassment at having been caught lying.

But he felt something else too: a little bit of his own anger flaring up inside him in response.  He clutched to it, desperate to say what he wanted to for once.

He couldn’t do it with his father yet and with most people he’d lost the chance, but he needed to say it here, at least.  He’d always been able to voice his opinions more readily in front of Grif somehow: that included anger and frustration too.  He’d never really realized that before now.

“And what about _you_ , fatass?” he asked quickly, “Look where you are!”

Grif seemed taken aback by the sudden fire in Simmons’ voice and the redhead used that momentum to keep going forward.

“You said you had no interest in the Resistance!”

“You mean right before you left?”

There was an almost hurt look on Grif’s face when he said it which caused Simmons to pause.

He’d felt guilty about leaving the way he had, yes, but he hadn’t really expected Grif to have remained even remotely upset by it after all this time: things had obviously changed since then for both of them quite a bit, after all.

Oddly enough, while he knew he should be feeling even more guilt over that now (and he did, a little bit): the strange elated feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t something he had been expecting.

_Maybe it was just because someone beyond his mom had actually cared enough to get upset over him leaving them at all.  Probably._

“Er…”

Grif began talking before he could come up with something more coherent than a garbled noise, “Things changed, Simmons.”

He waited and Grif finally seemed to take the cue to elaborate, “I was on Level One when Above Ground burned it.” He said quietly.

“Were you…okay?”

Fuck, that sounded like a really inadequate thing to say in response.

The haunted look on Grif’s face answered for him, “It was a fucking nightmare.”

Simmons stopped himself from reaching through the bars to grab at Grif’s hand.  It had been too early for that back then when Grif had told him about his family situation and why he had climbed up to the rafters on Level One, far too early now that they’d just met again.

He thought of something else too: of the nightmares of Grif and a pretty fourteen-year-old girl who looked a lot like him despite how Grif never seemed to see it.

“Is Kaikaina all right?” he asked frantically, worry pulling at his gut again.

She had scared the living tar out of him a lot of the time and he’d hated the ‘shy guy’ nickname he had gotten from her even if it _was_ true, but the thought of Grif’s eccentric little sister getting hurt in that horrible mess was terrifying to him as well.

“She’s fine.  She was in Low Town when it happened.”

He felt a massive amount of relief at that, both for her _and_ Grif.

Grif looked genuinely touched for a moment that he’d even remembered to ask about her.

Of course, how would he forget to ask?  Those few weeks he had spent with them were probably the ones that most stood out to him from his past even now.

 “But we knew a lot of people who didn’t make it.” Grif’s voice fell soft, his expression clouding over again, “Tucker’s mom, for one.”

Tucker was the dark-skinned boy who had been a neighbor to the two siblings.  He’d seemed nice enough, in the same loud-and-almost-scary-way as Kaikaina had.

“I’m sorry.”

It was another horribly inadequate sentiment to voice, but genuine.

Grif shrugged, with remarkable effort schooling his face into a less upset expression, “Well, that’s my reason for being here pretty much.”

He also probably felt it was the best way to protect Kaikaina too.  He didn’t say that though, and Simmons didn’t want to upset him by saying anything too personal when Grif wasn’t willing to address it himself yet.  He didn’t like when people did that to him, so he wouldn’t do it to someone else.  Besides, he really didn’t want to get Grif so frustrated with him that he’d leave again.  Not when they’d just started talking again.  Simmons was desperate to keep this going as long as he could for reasons even he wasn’t quite sure of.

He was almost expecting Grif to yell at him, to get angry and accuse him of supporting terrible people.  And Simmons would have no defense for that, really: what had happened was awful and thinking maybe you could help to change things from the inside as you proved yourself was a naïve notion at best to keep clinging to, especially with his skill level.

It probably would be better if Grif did yell: it would most likely be true and would help to define what their interactions and relationship would be in the here and now a whole lot more concisely, even if another part of him was hoping for the exact opposite.  Simmons had all sorts of conflicting thoughts: it would probably be for the best if Grif yelled, but he didn’t want it to happen all the same and he almost could feel himself panicking at the possibility that it would.

Instead, though, Grif smiled slightly and rubbed the back of his head, “It looks like you achieved your goal though, Simmons.  You’re a soldier now.”

He blinked, surprised at the lack of venom or accusation in the statement, “Um…yes.”

“I guess being a nerd has its advantages sometimes, huh?” he joked, “I told you that before, I think.”

Yeah, he’d said something similar once when he’d been impressed by Simmons’ hacking skills.  He still remembered it vividly because it was the only time someone had ever called him ‘cool’ before, even if Grif had still referred to him as a nerd in practically the same breath.

He smiled back slightly, really hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt or his normal eye as watery.

“I’m…not a great one, n—not yet.” He finally managed to choke out.

The tan man scoffed, “I’m not a great soldier either, Simmons, but we take it in fucking strides.” He looked at him pointedly, “I bet you haven’t relaxed a day since you went back up there, huh?”

Simmons bristled at that, getting angry at the knowing smirk crossing over the other’s still chubby face, “And I bet you relax way too much, Grif!”

“Tell me you at least got rid of the chore wheel.”

When Simmons became red-faced again, Grif laughed, “Seriously?”

“It’s a very efficient tool for time management!” he tried defending himself rather lamely.

“Whatever, dude.” He was fighting back laughter now, his whole body practically shaking, “It’s a tool for something, all right.”

He wasn’t even sure that made that much sense, really, and despite his frustration, Simmons couldn’t help but smile himself.

It was strange how easily they seemed to fall into this pattern.  He’d be lying if he didn’t say that he had missed it horribly.  He never felt this comfortable just talking to someone— _ever_.

Once Grif struggled not to laugh altogether and had finally stopped laughing, he looked up at Simmons’ face with a sudden frown.

Specifically at the eye that cast the world he saw through it in a slight red tint.

The smile dropped from Simmons’ face at that realization of what Grif was looking at, his hand suddenly moving subconsciously to block that part of his face from view.

He wasn’t sure why, really.  People giving him odd looks about his face and other altered body features after the surgery was nothing new anymore, but Grif looking at his face that intently made him feel very uncomfortable for some reason.

“What happened to your face?”

Leave it to Dexter Grif to be completely blunt about that kind of heavy topic.

Simmons said nothing, his brain trying to process from Grif’s tone what exactly he meant by that.  He probably thought it looked bad, but why did that really matter?

Grif took on a concerned look at his prolonged silence and the panicked expression crossing over his face, “Simmons, did you get hurt on a mission?”

 _That_ caught him off-guard.

Out of all the ways he’d expected Grif to probably react to his cybernetics, genuine concern had not been one of them.

“Um…no, I didn’t.” he tried getting the flustered tone out of his voice and failed miserably, “I—I volunteered.”

Grif had a blank look on his face and Simmons let out a tired sigh: looks like he’d have to explain in more detail then.

“There was an experimental program awhile ago for cybernetic enhancements.  I volunteered for it.” He took in a deep breath, “It—it’s not just that part of my face that got augmented.  I replaced—some of my appendages and organs too.”

Simmons tried faking a brave, prideful sort of smile (and probably failed miserably at it) as he added, “Sixty-five percent metal now:  give or take.”

Grif said nothing, looking the rest of him over as if he could see what Simmons was talking about through his armor.  The idea made his face and neck turn a vivid hue that almost matched his armor and he tried really hard to kick that mental image as far away from his head as possible.

It was easy enough in a way to do if he imagined that Grif probably pictured something hideous underneath his maroon armor.  That was usually how most people’s thoughts went when it came to cybernetics even now thanks to movies from Old Earth despite the actual appearance of cybernetic enhancements not being all that terrible in reality.  Still though, Simmons had never thought of himself as being that attractive in the first place: easy enough for him to imagine that augmentations of that level simply only added to that.

He tried really hard not to dwell on how he got upset by that notion all the same.

“Why?” Grif finally asked, looking him directly in the eyes again, both the green one and red one.

Simmons blinked, taken aback by the question.

“Why’d you volunteer for something like that?”

It if had been near impossible to talk to Sheila about that, it was even worse with Grif.  He didn’t want to let him know what a mess he’d been after everything, how sometimes when things messed up with the new parts or he was reminded of what he’d done he still panicked thinking he had made a massive mistake he could never take back.

Worse yet, it had only caused him to have minimal improvements at best, so either Simmons or the experiment itself was a gigantic failure.  His self-esteem was so low already that he was leaning more towards the failure being him.

Grif seemed to read the conflicted expression on his face again.  It was amazing how he could do that so easily in certain ways, but be oblivious in other instances to things Simmons was far too certain were extremely transparent in his body language around Grif to not be noticed at times.  Simmons almost jumped when Grif actually reached through the bars of the cell and touched his shoulder in a placating, calming gesture for a moment.

“Hey, it’s okay.  You don’t have to explain why to me.” He grinned slightly, “It’s kind of ballsy, in a way.”

Shit, there it was again.

Simmons knew it really wasn’t, especially since he had all of the technical details stuck in his head.  Not only that, but he could _feel_ all of the metal and circuitry that replaced flesh and bone in painfully distinct ways: he was well-aware of what he had given up in a phenomenal moment of weakness and stupidity coupled with the irony of the vey little he probably truly had gained.  Still, hearing praise of any sort from anyone always threw him for a loop.  The fact that it came from Grif again, who had been probably one of the very first people to ever do so in his life, made that strange fluttering feeling form in his stomach all over again.

He really, _really_ hoped he didn’t vomit.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but respond in a very silly, overly-eager way, “R—really?”

Grif’s smile took on a nostalgic tint as Simmons’ response had probably reminded him far too much of when they had interacted as teenagers, “Well, I’d probably never have the guts to do it.”

Simmons couldn’t help but give a weak smile back, “I don’t know.  You probably won’t be thinking that way when I become cyborg overlord of the whole planet like in all of those old science-fiction series.”

He laughed at that, “Please, I think Lopez and the other robots would beat you to it.”

“¿Quién querría descartar que imbéciles?  Tengo suficientes problemas apenas te toleran tal como es.” _{“Who would want to rule you morons?  I have enough problems barely tolerating you as it is.”}_

“You never know though.  I’d make chore wheels mandatory by punishment of death.” He joked.

“Okay, you see, you just lost what little cool points you had right there by saying that.”

The two continued conversing back and forth: sometimes just talking, sometimes bickering.

They talked about a lot of things: Simmons’ time during his training and in the military (well, beyond anything remotely confidential.  Not that Simmons knew much anyways); interesting stories about the Resistance that were more personable and not anything confidential either;; what Kaikaina had been up to (some of the stories Grif told were pretty hard to swallow, but Simmons supposed anything was possible concerning Grif’s sister); Tucker’s even more improbable alien pregnancy and the subsequent birth of his son ( _“Hey, fatass, don’t say anything weird about my family!”_ was heard a little ways away from them); Grif’s C.O. who apparently had a far too unorthodox approach to most things according to Grif; and teammate shenanigans.  Church flipped them the finger through the bars of his cell when Simmons mentioned his aim and Donut gave a cheerful wave and an offer to showcase his tossing when Grif mentioned him.  Simmons really hoped meant his throwing skill and nothing else.

Simmons even mentioned Captain Flowers, though not that he was killed by Resistance fighters as he was unsure of the wisdom of mentioning that here.  He even mentioned his mother too eventually.  He tried not to let his voice break too much then.

Grif said nothing beyond a quiet apology and a sympathetic hand on Simmons’ shoulder, which he was grateful for.  It was bad enough getting emotional when he was always made fun of for it in the past, having it be brought to attention anymore than that would have been really embarrassing.

He’d almost forgotten that they were standing on opposite sides of a cell or that there were even other people around.  He was just talking to Grif and that was the most natural thing in the world to him at the moment.

Even after the Red Team’s guard duty shift had officially ended, Grif remained standing there with him.  Their throats were practically raw from talking so much, but neither really noticed.

Eventually, they did finally reach a lull in the conversation though.  He had no idea how much time had passed by that point: definitely hours, it seemed.  There was still so much to say too, it was just a good point for regrouping.

Grif yawned, “Man, talking for this long really is kind of exhausting, huh?”

“You say that about everything.”

It was good to see that some things never changed, at least.

Simmons tried schooling his smile into an exasperated frown though to further prove his point.

“And it’s usually true.” Grif grinned back at him, not at all phased by Simmons’ pseudo-annoyed response in the slightest, “I could use a nap.”

“What?” Simmons blinked, his tone incredulous, “Here?”

“Why not?  I have perfected the art of napping anywhere, remember?” he puffed out his chest in pride, and Simmons remembered having a similar conversation a long time ago with him, “It’s quite handy.”

“But—“

“Besides, I’m not on guard duty anymore so it’s technically free-time for me so I can be anywhere I want, doing whatever I want for a change.” He raised an eyebrow at Simmons in an amused sort of way, “And I’m assuming you don’t have anywhere else you need to be at the moment?”

“You lazy fuck.”  Even with the joking comment that came at his expense on account of his current situation as a result of a mission failure that probably should have annoyed him or made him angry a lot more than it actually ended up doing, Simmons couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips in the face of Grif’s bizarre logic.

“I try to be.” The orange-armored man joked back in response to Simmons’ comment, causing the Above Grounder to shake his head in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

With that, Grif turned his back to Simmons and dropped to the floor of the makeshift prison block—leaning against the bars of the cell in a sitting position.

He looked up at Simmons expectantly, apparently waiting for the other man to do the same.

The redhead swallowed nervously, “Y—you really want to waste time napping?”

“It’s not wasting time if you enjoy doing it, Simmons.” He said in that pseudo-sage voice he’d used quite often as a teenager.

Shaking his head slightly in disbelief, Simmons finally did the same.  Turning his back to Grif, he sat down on the floor of his cell with his back against the bars.

He immediately made a face.  This was a lot more uncomfortable than Grif had made it look.  The floor was hard and battle armor was insanely clunky when one was not moving in it.  How Grif could nap in any capacity in it probably _was_ a testament to his self-proclaimed ability to be able to nap anywhere.  Not to mention that his cybernetic limbs screamed at him in protest through all sorts of pain signals when he tried repositioning them in any way.

“Besides, at least this time I know you’ll still be around when I wake up.”

Simmons’ eyes opened wide at that comment and he turned his head to try to look at Grif again despite the odd angle that it contorted his body into, just to make sure he’d actually spoken since it had been practically a mumble.

Grif wasn’t looking at him though.  Grif’s face was pointed towards the space directly in front of him and his brown eyes already closed.

But there was an odd, slight tinge of pink on what little skin was visible on the back of his neck.

Simmons couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face again or the sudden redness that he knew had probably appeared there too judging by how hot that part of his body felt once more.

And, just as quickly, in that moment sitting on the floor of the Resistance prison back-to-back as they were through the bars of his cell Simmons was struck with the notion that this very same spot that he couldn’t adjust to earlier no matter what he did was probably the most comfortable place he had ever been.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Gah, I am not the best when it comes to writing romance so I apologize if any of that came out forced or read weird!
> 
> But, in apology for that mean cliffhanger from the last chapter I wanted to be nice and throw in some actual lengthier Grimmons this time around for everyone in order to end things on a fluffier note than I tend to do normally! :D
> 
> Next chapter is the start of what I’d like to describe as “when something really starts to hit the fan,” so that should be pretty interesting to write with a bit more action and tenser sequences than I’m used to doing. XD
> 
> Anyways, I hope this chapter and fluff was well worth the wait. :) Thank you again for taking the time to read this fic!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Seven:

To say that their leader did not look pleased was an understatement.

The regular soldiers and other military employees who had been selected (whether luckily or unluckily, take your pick) to go with them on this mission were understandably giving her a wide berth.

Hell, most of the Freelancers were doing the same, not wanting Carolina to redirect any of the obvious tension visible in her stiff body language towards them.

Even fully armored, her posture was rigid with hands clenched into fists at her sides, only mere seconds from drawing her weapons if a situation called for it.  Not that it really made much of a difference as either with her guns or without anyone going up against Carolina was not going to be getting back up anytime soon.  They’d be lucky if they ever managed to get up again at all, truthfully.

Washington was spreading his attention in all directions.  First he looked to the soldiers opening up the tunnel blocks before them.  Opening the gate locks took a pretty high skill level in computer programming that even most Freelancers did not possess.  York had been the only one on their immediate team he knew to be able to do so, though it often took him awhile and that was mainly due to his knowledge of locks and security coding in general.  He supposed Florida might have known how as well considering his infiltration background, but he never bragged about it if that was in fact the case.  Then he looked to the other Freelancers milling about at the ready (and all pointedly ignoring one another, he noted), and then his attention fell to the mercenary in the steel and sage green armor who was being forced on them for this mission.

The mercenary was employed by someone high up in The Council, apparently, and Washington suspected he knew what that vague description really meant—though he couldn’t really guess at Hargrove’s game at the moment.

Spy and report on all fronts, those had been _his_ only instructions.  He didn’t even know for what, though the implication of a war on two fronts, both within the military itself and with The Slums in general, seemed a likely reason for so much observation and preparation on the Chairman’s end.

Fucking great.

He ignored the uneasiness that grew in him at the thought and he tried telling himself he’d moved past that the second he had made his decision, probably even before then, really—when all of the dirty little secrets of Project Freelancer had forced themselves into Washington’s brain along with an A.I. just trying to shed them in there in his own desperate attempt to _get out_.

It didn’t make a damn bit of difference anyway, so long as he was finally able to get away from all of this in the end.

Given the “stay in your own personal space bubble” motif that seemed to be the general consensus of everyone right now, Washington was somewhat surprised to note the woman in the silver pilot’s uniform who approached Carolina rather fearlessly after a few moments had passed with him lost in his own thoughts.

He recognized her as Four Seven Niner, the pilot who had been responsible for taking them to and from their surface missions back before the whole project had been grounded, more or less, given everything that had happened.

It seemed odd, unnatural even to see her underneath the city when she’d always jokingly said during flights how much more she enjoyed flying over Above Ground than even _living_ in it.

“This seems pretty extreme for an extraction plan for three low-level soldiers.” She said, surveying the activity around them.  Her tone was oddly light and conversational considering who she was talking to.

Washington was halfway expecting Carolina to jump down the pilot’s throat given how harsh she’d become whenever one of _them_ seemed to remotely question a mission nowadays.

Perhaps it was because Four Seven Niner wasn’t directly under command or how they used to get along well enough before everything had pretty much imploded or maybe it was just that Four Seven Niner’s comment was more an observation than the challenge or argument that usually underlined similar comments she tended to receive, but Carolina didn’t seem to take offense to it at all.

He remembered the two of them sometimes quipping to the other during pretty intense flights—something about Carolina’s new friends always seeming _so nice_ and whether or not “bumpy” or “crashy” were the best terms for turbulence that could sometimes be peppered with bullets during training routines

“Not really my call.  A team of two could probably get the mission done even more efficiently.” She let out a tired sigh, “But these orders came from the top.”

“The big guy?” the tan woman seemed surprised.

Carolina gave a curt nod, “Not just the Director though.  The Council too.”

“Huh.  That’s weird.”

The woman in cyan and silver armor shook her head, saying nothing.  Washington imagined she’d been going over the whole perplexing situation in her head constantly since it had begun.

The Director and the Council’s interest in this mission didn’t really make a ton of sense, not when looking at the soldiers involved.

Yes, he knew that Simmons came from a long line of military men and that his father was actually still a pretty prominent figure within the military and the Council.  But that wouldn’t be worth the risk of a rescue mission, and from what Washington knew about the man, he doubted he would even waste the effort on one, especially for a son with as embarrassingly low military accomplishments as Simmons still had even with the money put on him from the cybernetic enhancements experiment.  Given the overall low performance rates of the soldiers who had volunteered for the experiment in general the project had recently been considered a failure and an unfortunate expenditure compared to other military programs, so there was no reason to try to salvage another fighter from it as far as the budget was concerned.

Granted, the robot soldier Sheila might be worth a rescue attempt simply from a hardware spec stance alone: Virtual Intelligences took a lot of time and energy to develop, so losing one always hurt from a resources stance.  But even looking at it from that perspective, it would have been a justifiable sacrifice if they left it there.

Leonard Church was even less remarkable looking at the records: distant genealogy on file to the Director and a service record that had no remarkable notes to it.  One wouldn’t even give him a second thought.

Then again, Washington knew a little better.  His, _its_ , memories were a jumbled mess in his head, but he could discern enough from them.

He didn’t think it was a coincidence the soldier happened to share the same name as the Director.  He was even starting to suspect the “distant relation” gimmick to explain that was a ploy too.

Plus, the Chairman setting this whole thing up?  Washington was pretty sure he damn well knew for certain as well.  Malcolm Hargrove was probably just trying to test the waters, so to speak: see if he could prove the theory true.

The Director, having perhaps realized Hargrove’s game himself, was probably just trying to cover his own tracks at this point.

There was also the issue of the Resistance and the three defectors from Project Freelancer to consider too.

No wonder the roster for this mission was so overkill.

Several birds that could be taken out with one stone, as it were—all under the guise of a “rescue mission” that had been intentionally set-up.

He smiled grimly under his helmet.  Nothing really ever changed, it seemed.  Now they were just being screwed over by two people’s power struggles instead of just one person’s.

Washington didn’t think the person he’d chosen to work for in this junction was any fucking different after all, but he was just tired and desperate enough to ignore the little bit of his conscience that still remained.

Well, more like he was just fed up with listening to it right now, considering what it had gotten him into in the first place.  _Thinking he’d been making a difference and finding out how far from the actual truth that really was had just near killed him—quite literally given what had happened with Epsilon._

“So any particular reason I have to be the one to drive this glorified metal box on steroids through cramped places that will probably make the _whole_ experience one I’ll want to scrape from memory?” Four Seven Niner asked Carolina a different question instead of continuing on the earlier train of thought.

She seemed adept at reading when it was safe and when it wasn’t to navigate certain topics.  Perhaps that was a sign of the intuitiveness that made Four Seven Niner a good pilot at work in other areas of her life.

She was indicating the transport close to the exit to Above Ground.  It did appear pretty large and bulky given the heavy armor surrounding the vehicle.  It was almost hard to believe it would be capable of navigating some of the tunnels at all despite assurances that it had been tested out in the field earlier just fine.

“I thought you might have wanted a break from being stuck in an office all the time now.”

Four Seven Niner scoffed, “Being underground in that thing will probably be the same as being stuck doing mindless paperwork.  Only dirtier.”

There was an almost wry note to Carolina’s tone when she spoke next, “Don’t forget ‘bumpy.’”

“’Suffocatey’ works too.”

It was rare to witness Carolina even remotely joke anymore.  Washington was surprised at the tightening in his throat when he witnessed the exchange.

Maybe it was because it hit so close to home, dredging up memories of when he _hadn’t_ known so much.  When things had been tough, but oddly fun—when even hard-edged Carolina had softened just a little and joked with them from time to time.

_York.  York had always been there then, and North too._

They’d be there, at the Resistance base probably.  As would Texas.

He glanced at the tenseness in Carolina, knowing that she knew that too.

How would she react if she saw York again?

How would South react, seeing her brother?

He didn’t bother thinking about Tex.  He imagined both of the Freelancers would react the same to her.  South blamed Agent Texas’ defection for too many things and neither of them had gotten along too well with one another in the brief time that Tex had been active on the roster.

And Carolina—well, there had always been a tension between her and the Director’s “pet.”

He imagined the defection, especially given York’s decision to participate in it, would no doubt have only increased that tenfold.

How would Washington react if he ran into them?  How _should_ he react?

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to dwell on it.

On the one hand, he could understand the reasoning behind the defection all too well now.  Project Freelancer in general had been screwing each and every one of them over, after all.  It wasn’t like Above Ground in particular hadn’t been doing the same to the Slums.  Probably _worse_ even, but he didn’t want to dwell on that either.

But they’d known even earlier than he had, had suspected earlier that things weren’t right if nothing else—and they’d _left him_ , abandoned him when he hadn’t even been sure of who he _was_ anymore.  Still didn’t sometimes—events, memories, and emotions all a blur to the point where he was never fully certain what was something that had truly belonged to “David” and what had belonged to someone else entirely, still woke up screaming some nights about losing _her_ and he didn’t even know who _she_ was in that panicked state: _Allison_ , he would realize later when things had calmed slightly and he could breathe close to normal again.  Allison always existed as the cornerstone of Epsilon’s tortured memories.

Washington understood, yes, but he still felt betrayed and angry.  Given his assignment it was probably for the best that he tap into that viewpoint more in order to achieve what he had to do for his own goals now.

Still, he hated that hesitancy that wormed its way into his mind whenever he thought upon it.

“That’s the last bulkhead that needs to be unsealed, right?” he heard Four Seven Niner ask.

Carolina’s gaze flickered back to where the tech specialists assigned to the mission were huddled together by a computer panel, the coding flashing along the screen moving at an incredibly fast pace.

“Yes.” Her hands clenched at her sides again.

“Wouldn’t using the green guy make that easier?”

Washington’s attention focused solely on them once more at the pilot’s question.

He’d heard her call someone that before.  Only—that _couldn’t_ be right, could it?

The A.I. Fragments that had been confiscated from the defectors had been put back into containment at the storage facility on the Mother of Invention for the time being.  Omega had always been a risky gamble, volatile as he was.  No one would probably ever use him again.  At least he hoped not.  Theta and Delta could potentially be implanted again once the restrictions were lifted, but there was the matter of them possibly not being loyal to the project due to their involvement with North and York that had to be considered carefully too.  He doubted little Theta in particular would bond nearly as well with someone else as he did with patient, understanding North Dakota.

But with the way Four Seven Niner had worded the question, it almost seemed as if…

Carolina visibly stiffened even more at the question (he hadn’t thought it possible) and turned to look at him for the first time.  The direct, sudden eye contact terminated his trail of thought and he suddenly felt ridiculously like a little kid again having just been caught eavesdropping on an adult conversation he wasn’t supposed to have overheard.

“Agent Washington,” she called over to him, “Shouldn’t you be preparing for the mission right now instead of wasting time standing there?”

He’d already prepared countless times before they’d even gone into the tunnels.  He was fairly certain she knew that too, but Carolina’s question was meant to be a dismissal: a warning for him to not listen anymore to something she apparently considered very much none of his business.

It was probably best not to ignore the message.

He nodded quickly, “I’ll get on it right away.”

“Good.”

Washington didn’t need to be told twice.  He had learned well enough by now when to pretend he hadn’t found out something he wasn’t meant to know.

He passed C.T. on his way to the transport to check over the extra equipment they were bringing for the twentieth time or so.  Odds were good everything would be where he’d last made a mental note of them being, but it gave him something to do and he enjoyed having something menial to focus his thoughts on for a change.  She was tapping her right forearm nervously.

Another thing he was pretending not to notice for the moment.

He frowned, knowing he’d have to address it later.  He just didn’t know _how_ yet.

Washington really couldn’t wait until all of this was finally behind him.  If it ever could be.

*****

They had barely had enough time to warn Kimball before things escalated to “very bad, very quickly” by York’s estimation.

The walls of the small space that could arguably be described as a glorified broom closet, really, as Kimball had long since decided that being the leader of the Resistance didn’t mean she was entitled to a lavish workspace when larger areas could be better served to house more men and equipment, that served Vanessa Kimball as her “office” at base started to shake very noticeably.  Computer terminals flickered along with the lighting, threatening to plunge the whole enclosed space into utter darkness.

“Shit, was she sending you those updates while they were on the fucking move?” York called out to Tex as the rumbling continued.

The darkened visor of her helmet turned in his direction, “More than likely.”

That alone was disturbing from several fronts: the primary two being that now they more than likely were totally going to be screwed since there was now no time to prepare for an attack that was in the midst of happening already in the corridors directly around the base itself if the shaking was any indication, and that the odds of C.T. getting caught sending them intel was probably a hell of a lot higher now.

Kimball said nothing, though from the slight incline of her head to the side it appeared as if she was perhaps listening or reading something on a private communication frequency built into her armor.  Reports about what was going were most likely coming in to her from all over.

“It looks like they’re attacking from the tunnels closest to Entryway 4B from Above Ground.” He could almost hear the frown in her voice as she turned to regard them both, her helmet blocking her face from view: “An attack from only one entryway.  Even taking into account the mazes and different branches the tunnels turn into, that’s a bold move.  Superior firepower or no, having one exit would be a poor strategy.”

Case in point, the Resistance base was always set up to be impermanent and easily moveable if necessary and always took advantage of the labyrinth-like quality of the mines.  People could slip in and out of the base at numerous locations, should it be deemed necessary.

He wondered if Kimball would consider this one of those times or not.

She continued after a moment, “But I’m suspecting that’s not really the case here.”

Tex nodded, “They’re sending in regular military through Entryway 4B to serve as a distraction.  While the Resistance is busy dealing with them, more elite soldiers and specialists will probably have already snuck in.”

She was already moving to the door to check on the situation outside.  No actual combat in the hallway yet, it look like—though there were lots of people running in every direction and distant sounds of gunfire, “C.T.’s orders are to sneak in to cut power to this section of the tunnels while that’s going on.”

So not only would they be dealing with heavy fighting, they’d also be dealing with it in near total blindness and with most of the computer and door mechanics off-line.

That would be perfect.  Not.

“Should I try to get her to buy us some time?” Tex didn’t exactly seem like she relished the prospect.  Any action their informant took that went against orders would no doubt raise suspicion, after all, but she probably figured it was best from a tactical stance to lay out all their options on the table.

Perhaps thankfully though, Kimball shook her head, “No, the chances of her even getting a communiqué are slim at this point and her acting suspiciously would end badly for all of us given the stakes.  We’ll deal with the blackout if and when it occurs: our soldiers are actually a bit more used to power outages than I’m guessing some of the regular Above Ground troops are at any rate.”

York couldn’t help but grin, “And so their own tactic might bite them in the ass inadvertently, huh?”

A slight nod, “From a training, numbers, and technology stance we don’t stand much of a chance against them directly.  We have to take advantage of our knowledge of the terrain any way we can.”

“It won’t mean shit with the Freelancers though.”

Kimball sighed and said in agreement to Tex’s warning comment: “No, I figured as much already.”

She turned to York suddenly, “Sarge is making his way to the prison area to get his team.  Could you head there with him?”

“Sure.” He glanced questioningly between her and Tex, wondering what they were going to do since neither of them seemed to be making a move to leave.

Kimball seemed to read his mind, “There’s a strategy issue Tex had brought up before that we need to discuss still.”

That was all the explanation he was going to have time for as another explosion caused the base to quake violently and that was motivation enough for York to hurry on his way to find Sarge.

He figured if he strained his ears to listen for the exuberant shouting, maniacal laughter, and shotgun blasts he could just make out in the din of the combat further away he would be bound to run into him eventually.

*****

Waking up in general from a really good nap was a drawn out, tedious affair whenever it occurred naturally.

Doing so on account of violent shaking, explosions, and gunfire?

Pretty fucking brutal, especially when his brain was still in that sluggish, only partially awake point where it wasn’t quite sharp enough to put two and two together yet.

“Uh, what…?” he opened his eyes groggily after a particularly large explosion rattled the makeshift prison area and hurt his ears, causing a couple of rock chunks to fall from the ceiling way too close to his head for comfort.

“Grif!  Wake the fuck up already, you idiot!”

Evidently Simmons’ brain was a lot sharper than the orange-armored fighter’s was when it came to bouncing back to a more alert state.  Or, more likely, Grif surmised, since Simmons seemed to exist on an always highly anxious plane of thought, he never really _ever_ relaxed to the point of being lulled to complacency.  Sort of sad in most situations, but probably more helpful in ones like this.

Simmons had already sprung back up to his feet, an odd little grimace momentarily flickering over his face when he did so even as Grif was still in the process of blearily wiping the sleep from his eyes.  Grif wondered if maybe it had to do with that cybernetic enhancement stuff Simmons had been going on about before.  It seemed like it possibly hurt him sometimes, though Simmons had tried glossing over it in conversation. 

Simmons punctuated the urgency in his tone with a kick to Grif’s shoulder through the bars to help speed him awake.

Of course, this actually hurt more than he’d probably intended it to given his enhancements as well.  Grif felt the kick even through his armor, the force of it almost knocking him to the ground.

Suffice it to say though, it certainly did the trick in getting him awake.

“Ow!” Grif jumped up and rounded on the redhead staring determinedly at him from behind the bars of his cell, glaring at the Above Grounder in annoyance for the extremely rude awakening, “What the hell, Simmons?”

Simmons gestured to outside of the storage area they were in, the sounds of fighting coming from there only seeming to escalate and were getting louder as the moments ticked by.

“There’s fighting going on out there!” he yelled in frustration, “Now is definitely not the time to be napping.”

He sounded understandably on edge given the context.  After all, he and his teammates were prisoners here—unarmed and without their helmets too, locked in small cells.  Even if this was some kind of rescue mission for them, they were sitting ducks and could easily become collateral damage in a firefight situation.

Tucker was moving towards Grif, already putting his helmet on.

“He’s right, fat-ass.” He said in that tone of voice Tucker only ever used in situations he considered pretty fucking dire, “Where’s your helmet?”

“Uh…” Grif blinked at the question, looking around frantically.

Where had he seen that damn thing last?  He’d been fairly certain he had brought it in here.  Maybe.

Tucker was sighing and shaking his head.  Simmons was staring at him in open-mouthed incredulity.

Church whistled from the next cell over, “Again, _great_ guard choices, guys.  We’re thrilled you thought so much of us.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Simmons finally managed to vocalize properly again after that little exchange between Grif and his teammate in the cobalt blue armor, “ _Seriously_ , Grif?”

He shrugged, feeling decidedly sheepish now, “Well, there was a lot going on and I didn’t think I’d necessarily need it so soon…”

“You work in a rebel army base!  Having your helmet with you at all times should be standard procedure!”

Wow, even when Simmons was reaming someone out for something admittedly pretty dumb he sounded like a nerd.  Grif wasn’t sure if he should laugh at that thought or feel oddly impressed by Simmons’ consistency.

“It’s around here somewhere.  I think.”

Simmons sighed exasperatedly and looked like he was about to say something else to him in annoyance over the missing helmet situation when another explosion caused the area to quake violently.

Instead of saying whatever he’d been about to say, Simmons grabbed onto the bars tightly with both hands.  Grif tried to ignore the fact that he actually seemed to twist the metal slightly in the process of doing so.  The maroon soldier looked decidedly squeamish.

Even Church had lost the smirk he’d had on his goateed face, frowning and glancing up at the ceiling overhead nervously.

“Shit, that one sounded fucking close.” He mumbled.  Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced around the space again.

“I know I was relieved earlier for the chance for some fucking peace and quiet finally, but where’d that Caboose kid go?”

There almost, _almost_ sounded like something akin to slight worry in his voice despite how hard he tried to make his tone sound nonchalant and disinterested.  He refused to meet anyone’s eyes directly after asking it as well, as if embarrassed.

Tucker’s back straightened sharply at the mention of his teammate, “Fuck!” he said in realization, “That moron said he was going to check on his dog!”

“Freckles?” Church seemed to relax slightly, “Well, if he’s with the giant killer robot he’s probably safer than we are standing around here like chumps.”

Tucker said nothing, exchanging a look with Grif.  Neither of them wanted to mention that because of the unease the assault droid caused at base, he was only allowed in the outskirt tunnels.

Which probably meant that Freckles had been near one of the first combat engagements and that it was quite likely that Caboose had been there too when it happened.

“Should I go look for him?” Donut asked from behind, nervousness apparent in both his voice and body language.

Tucker shook his head, “No, he’s my teammate.  Once we have a clearer view of what is going on, I’ll go look for him.”

“Sólo tienes que seguir los disparos y explosiones. Es probable que encuentres tanto de esa manera.” { _“Just follow the shooting and explosions.  You'll probably find both of them that way.”}_

Grif turned to Simmons, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange.  His face still looked oddly ashen and his grip on the bars hadn’t lessened any.

Hell, Grif was nervous as all fuck too and seeing _that_ certainly didn’t help matters.

Before he could even think about what he was doing or why, he reached out with his right hand and clasped it around one of Simmons’ in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.  He had sometimes done the same for Kai when they were little and she’d had a nightmare.

“It’s going to be okay, Simmons.” He murmured, hoping that at the very least Simmons would loosen his death-grip on the bars.

Simmons said nothing for a few very prolonged moments, eyes focused on the gloved hand covering his own.

When he finally did look up at Grif again his face was tinted red, probably in embarrassment for that whole episode having been done in public, but there was an oddly determined look in both his green eye and his red tinted one.

“You better find your damn helmet, fat-ass.” He managed to somehow say without stammering in the slightest, “If you die on account of being a lazy fuck I will _never_ forgive you.”

*****

Sometimes, Felix really questioned his fucking luck.

Granted, he had made some pretty poor decisions in the past.  All for potentially lucrative assignments, but that was sort of par the course for someone in his line of work.

Everyone always had a motive behind their actions, after all.  He’d learned that the hard way a hell of a long time ago.  The lesson ingrained into his brain, his very _skin_ , to the point where he would never fucking forget it.

Not that he dwelled constantly on the past or anything.  No time for that when you were trying to get a decent paycheck.  That giant computer terminal won’t pay for itself, after all, nor would the freaking big ass mansion he planned to buy to house said giant terminal after he retired.

Besides, it wasn’t like he wasn’t constantly reminded of that fact whenever he so much as looked around at daily human interactions.  His observational skills were second to none, both inside and outside of combat.

That’s why he preferred his line of work to the proper military chain.  Soldiers in general were motivated by personal wants just as much as the next person, but at least freelancers ( _mercenaries_ , he corrected mentally: it amused him to note that an _actual_ military program used the term for its operatives too) were a lot more upfront and honest about it in general.

Plus, he enjoyed the freedoms and perks that come with his line of work.  He could pick who he worked for and decide just how much he was willing to stake and for what price too.

Maybe, in a way, that was why he had chosen to approach the Resistance in the first place.  In a way, he could respect what they were fighting for: freedom and equal treatment for all, and all of that other feel good crap that looks really great and totally doable on paper but seems pretty much impossible to ever achieve in reality.  So he felt slightly at ease with accepting the job as a result.  It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make sure they paid him every credit his services were worth, of course.

However “noble” a cause, a charity worker he was not.

Their leader, Vanessa Kimball, was also pretty upfront and open about what she wanted out of the partnership too.  She didn’t hold anything back and was brutally honest about what she expected of him if he hoped to get paid his full amount.  She didn’t hide the fact that if they hadn’t been desperate for more experienced soldiers in general she would never have even contemplated his offer and would have probably rejected it outright.  As much as she didn’t seem to like his outlook and as much as she showed distaste for it, she admitted that she pretty much was just as motivated by it for different reasons as well.

That it was reality, harsh as it was.

He could respect that about her and he knew that the contract was a fair one when all things were considered.

He was also not getting paid in credits, but in tech—which translated to probably even _more_ credits through market connections than most soldiers-for-hire would ever see in a salary-based contract. 

Working for a group that was stationed on a veritable gold mine of tech was a pretty lucrative prospect.  Civilian-based, military-grade, alien: take your pick.  Even just as scrap some pieces had value he could scarcely believe in the right channels.  It paid knowing the right people and he knew _lots_ of “right people.”

So, all in all, one could say he knew how to pick his jobs well.  He would fight for the Resistance for awhile, then pull out once things got too heated.  The contract had been pretty clear on that, he’d made sure of it himself.

It was a case of everybody winning, at least for a little while.

But, _no,_ the shit luck portion of his life had to butt in on quite literally the worst possible moment yet again.  First day of starting his contract and apparently he walked right into a fucking ambush on the Resistance base.

A rock clanked underfoot and the two soldiers he’d been tracking ( _Above Grounders, standard military by the more nondescript battle armor they were wearing_ ), turned around.

A combat knife was soon embedded in one of their throats and he was already moving in a steel and orange blur to disable the other one as his comrade choked out his last dying gurgles.  A kick to the knee to make them lose their balance and a bullet through their visor as they scrambled to get him in their own weapon’s sights to ensure they didn’t regain it.

Felix was just _that_ fucking good.

Hell, the sounds of heated fighting all around him in the tunnels didn’t even phase him.

He was a professional and he damn well knew that if the Resistance fell he could kiss all of that wonderful tech goodbye.  Above Ground sure as hell had a huge “finders keepers” policy when it came to that sort of thing and they usually always considered themselves the “finders” no matter what.

Best to just randomly pick off enemy combatants as he came across them then if the fight was winnable, while trying to find Kimball in the chaos and get clearer orders.  He had a survivor’s mentality: it was _never_ a good or wise move to walk into a fight when the outcome was likely you being a bloody corpse afterwards.

If he was lucky, he could use this whole situation to his advantage and arrange for a renegotiation of his fee to boot.  That would definitely be sweet.

Just as the opportunist in him was mentally patting himself on the back for the thought, turning the corner made him pause and self-congratulatory thoughts went out the window as “ _Oh, shit~!”_ filled his mind instead.

The sounds of constant chaos all around him had apparently shielded the very recent massacre that took place in the nearby corridor from his ears.

The bodies of several Resistance soldiers, made easily identifiable by the mismatched and well-worn equipment they had on and the random assortment of weaponry they carried, were laid on the ground in a non-distinct, bloody pile.  He counted ten of them, maybe?  It was hard to say, given the not-so-pleasant conditions of the deceased.

He ducked backwards the way he had just came, apparently avoiding the group of Above Ground soldiers who had finished “cleaning up” the tunnel.

More importantly in his book, he also avoided the steel and green-armored fighter who was apparently leading them.

The numbers were already stacked against him, but _that_ pretty much cemented Felix would have been dead on the spot if he’d been seen.

“Let’s move on then.  We still have a lot of work to do.” The gravelly voice Felix _wished_ he didn’t know as well as he did spoke up and footsteps indicated the group was departing the opposite way at the statement.

Felix waited a few moments, back pressed uncomfortably against the tunnel wall, before taking in a deep breath and peering around the corner once more—adrenaline pumping through his system at the very real possibility of a bullet heading into his brain at the act.  _He’d always been a sneaky bastard,_ loved _to catch his opponents off-guard when he could._

Only the mercenary remained there, standing nonchalantly amidst the carnage.  He was looking around and he almost wondered if maybe he’d heard Felix earlier or had seen a flicker of movement and was trying to pinpoint where it had come from exactly, but he doubted it: if the asshole had even suspected Felix was there, he’d be dead already.

No, it looked like he was _listening_ to someone over a comm-link.  Either someone down here or someone on a very heavy-duty frequency on the surface.

“Understood.  Will file an observation report as I go.”

With that, the other mercenary faded from view completely and Felix really didn’t want to think about the ways in which a psycho like Locus probably got his hands on camouflage tech.

Well, it was probably very similar to how he had gotten his very nifty energy shield a few weeks ago, only no doubt much more disturbingly graphic.

So now Locus could turn pretty much invisible at will, be practically anywhere, _and_ kill people even more stealthily than he had been able to do so before and he hadn’t been a slouch in the stealth department in the past.  Plus, he was working for Above Ground to boot.

That was fucking perfect.

Felix took a few more seconds to calm himself and then began to backtrack through the corridors he had gone through earlier.  He wouldn’t have risked trailing Locus when he was visible given what the fucker was capable of.  Walking through tunnels with an invisible Locus was just asking to get shot or worse.

He’d find another way into the base somehow and then he was definitely renegotiating his contract with Kimball.

Having to deal with that dick in any capacity sort of made that a priority.

*****

As far as actual mission assignments went, this plan from a strategic stance was fairly simple.

The infantry troops provided an initial distraction, mowing down any Resistance fighters they came across in the tunnels.

The Freelancers, in turn, used the distractions caused by the chaos to break further into the base and help ensure that there was less of an enemy group to deal with.  If they found the missing team, great, if not—well, that wasn’t _their_ top concern.

Only real difference on that end was that C.T. had orders to infiltrate where the power supply lines were for a large portion of the tunnels and levels that made up the Resistance base and disable them so that the base was only running on emergency power and then she was potentially to look for the missing team afterwards and secure them.

Washington didn’t really mind that, truthfully.  He had certain suspicions regarding C.T. at the moment, but he doubted she would put Simmons and the others in jeopardy, which was more than he could say for a few of his other “teammates” at the moment.  They were probably in the best hands with her being in charge of their rescue.

The other Freelancers, aside from being assigned different “areas” were pretty much given free rein to move.

To degrees, of course, and at least on the surface.  Washington knew most of them no doubt had their own personal motivations, possibly even their own personal orders.  He wasn’t nearly naïve enough anymore to assume that others in the group weren’t given different agendas: he was proof positive of that himself, after all.

Either way, though, the end result of all of it was pretty much a slaughter.

He was actually _limiting_ himself on that end.  He understood well enough why someone would perhaps _want_ to fight against Above Ground.  He wasn’t going to go out of his way to kill them if it wasn’t for a strategic stance.

He knew many of the others wouldn’t.  South and Wyoming weren’t exactly ones to hold back if in a mood and neither was Carolina much these days, though she generally still only took out those she considered potential threats—it was just, unfortunately, _most_ people she came across probably could be construed as potential threats in her eyes. That mercenary named Locus—well, the things one heard about him were enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.  Definitely not liking that apparently he was on the Council payroll at all.

_“Almost there.”_ C.T.’s voice said over the team comm-link.

_“Good.”_ Carolina’s voice responded back, _“Let us know when you’re ready to cut the power.  Everyone else, maintain radio silence unless there is an emergency.”_

Someone in a mixed-matched outfit raised a gun towards him out of the corner of his eye while he was listening in on the communication.  Washington didn’t even slow down in his quick pace through the passageway as he pulled the trigger on his own weapon and the rebel fell down in an unmoving heap on the floor.

That was probably the fifteenth one or so, if he’d had bothered counting, but that was more than just a little disheartening to do in a situation like this.

Screw observation reports, once an enemy combatant was dead they weren’t really an issue anymore.

No, Hargrove was more interested in equipment and gear, what tech the Resistance had at their disposal, and the general layout of their operations.  The people behind those things and why they were here at all meant less than dirt by comparison.

That mentality was so similar to Project Freelancer’s it could almost make Washington laugh bitterly.  Best not to dwell on it.  Probably best not to dwell on the people he was fighting here either for similar reasoning.

Of course, encountering a heavily-armed assault droid wasn’t something he’d been eager to do in the tunnels either.

“ENEMY DETECTED.”

He barely had time to duck forward as the wall behind him became peppered with a spray of bullets so numerous and forceful that it practically turned several meters of the thick rock that comprised it into a fine powder floating in the air.

_That_ would have been decidedly bad if he’d been hit by it.

Best to stay on the move then, if he could get around the mech somehow…

His attention had been so focused on the large, looming threat in front of him that he had only marginally noticed the blue armored soldier who had suddenly materialized right in front of him.

“Wow, you are quick at dodging.  All of the other people who played tag with Freckles are still sleeping!”

Not sure at first what the hell the younger man was talking about, Washington glanced down momentarily—noticing for the first time the assorted bodies of Above Ground soldiers littering the space between him, the newcomer, and the mech.  All of them had various bullet holes tearing through their armor and bodies.

Fuck, how did he _not_ notice what he’d been walking into?  His brain was still nowhere near as sharp as he needed it to be, it seemed.  Even with the chaos going on with all of the fighting, that was a major tactical error he could not afford to make ever again.

Briefly, it crossed his mind as he was mentally kicking himself over that huge mistake that the robot was no longer shooting.  He made a note of that, as well as that it seemed as if the stop was timed with the appearance of this Resistance soldier in front of him.

Maybe it was programmed to avoid friendly fire?  As long as the soldier wasn’t a threat keeping him between Washington himself and the sights of the mech might be a good idea.  It didn’t seem very likely the soldier was one at the moment given the friendly, way-too-open way he was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for Washington to respond.

“Er…playing.  Yes.” He wasn’t sure whether or not the young Resistance fighter was just acting simple-minded as some kind of ruse to get him to lower his guard or what.  It was a bad one, if that was the case: he was leaving himself completely vulnerable to attacks from every direction—Washington could kill him in several different ways in mere seconds if he needed to.  Still, it seemed prudent to play along at the moment.

“There were lots of explosions and gunshots going on.  It’s almost like it’s a birthday!” the Resistance soldier tilted his head to the side, “Only, I don’t think this is a good time to be playing.  Or napping.”

Hm, so despite how he was acting he at least seemed to sense that _something_ was wrong.  Only heavily removed from reality then, not completely separated from it.

“It really isn’t.” Washington found it oddly easy to fall back into the reassuring tone that he had used with his cats when he was younger in this exchange, possibly due to the childish tone the fighter was taking that seemed more and more genuine as he regarded his body posture and the moments ticked by, “You might want to get further inside the base with—ah, Freckles was it?” he glanced at the assault droid, recalling what the blue-armored soldier had referred to it as earlier, “This isn’t so much playing as it is fighting.”

He hoped that worked.

_Please don’t make me kill you.  I’d rather not.  I’d also prefer getting that trigger-happy mech as far away from me as possible._

“Shouldn’t you come too then?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the innocent query.  What was with this kid?  Anyone else in his situation would have realized right away that he was probably an enemy.

“We should warn Tucker and the nice lady!” his tone was urgent, “And go help Church too.”

“Church?”

That was the name of one of the soldiers from Simmons’ team.  The one who also shared that name with the Director for reasons that Washington was beginning to have very strong suspicions about.

Shit, this kid knew where they were?

“You know him?” he seemed extremely pleased at the idea, “He is my new best friend!  Which makes us friends too!”

That was some pretty dicey logic there, but Washington really didn’t want to argue it given the opportunity this presented and the fact that Freckles could still probably take him out if he wasn’t careful.

Getting further into the base and possibly freeing Simmons and the others would help his mission a lot and it would help guarantee that they could get out of there okay in case C.T. wouldn’t be able to get to them due to something unforeseen happening.

“I was…looking for him actually.” Not exactly a lie, more of a half-truth (while technically on a rescue mission, the rescue part had never been his central focus on paper), “Didn’t know where he was.”

“We should go see him then.  I bet he’ll be so happy!”

“Sure.” He was still reeling from this very bizarre turn of events, “Lead the way, umm…?”

Right, killer robot’s name was apparently Freckles.  He still hadn’t gotten the Resistance fighter’s name.

“Come on, Freckles!” he seemed overeager to go though, ignoring Washington’s prompt.

“ACKNOWLEDGED.” The robot’s booming voice reverberated as he started heading deeper into the catacombs.

Washington wasn’t exactly thrilled that apparently the mech would be with them the whole time, but he could hopefully figure out some way to deal with it by the time they reached the missing team.  He noticed several of Freckles’ guns were still trained on him, which would probably make things a little more difficult.

More and more equipment, furniture, and general signs of living began showing up as they continued their trek.  They were heading further into the base proper, it seemed.

None of the fighters moving past them in a hurry paid any heed though.  Distracted as they were by the conflict, they probably just assumed Washington was a Resistance fighter they hadn’t met yet.

Which suited him just fine, since that meant his biggest concern by and large was still going to be Freckles for the time being.

Finally, it seemed to dawn on the young man that he hadn’t told Washington his name.

“Silly me, I didn’t say who I was, did I?  I forget to do that all the time because I know myself!” he could almost imagine the Resistance soldier grinning widely at that, “I’m Caboose!”

Of course he was.

Washington noticed that his visor stared at him as if waiting for the other man to supply something as well.  He sighed.

“Washington.”

“Washingtub?” another head-tilt, “That’s a funny name.”

“That’s because that wasn’t what I said.  At all.”

Caboose stared at him with what was no doubt probably a blank look on his face to rival his visor and Washington sighed.  Strange how he was trying to explain his name to a Resistance fighter of all things now.

But that was before the bullet whizzed by his head, missing the top of his helmet by a hair’s breadth.

_Intentional miss.  I’d been in his sights way too long._

He cursed himself for letting the bizarre turn of events with the Caboose kid and Freckles distract him.

“It’s Washington, Caboose.” A familiar voice coming from an equally familiar violet armor said, “After a province on Old Earth.”

Washington was moving to the side behind a small transport that looked to be inoperable, gun trained on his former teammate the whole time.  Freckles didn’t fire, probably because his attention wasn’t on Caboose and he hadn’t fired yet.

Caboose just stood there, unsure of what was going on.

“Hey, Wash.” North Dakota’s eyes never left the scope of his sniper rifle, but he didn’t pull the trigger again either.  There was a hesitant note to his tone as if he was dreading this situation just as much as his former teammate was, “Fancy meeting you here.”

*****

“Things are getting mighty brutal out there!”

Sarge’s voice boomed through the storage area before his red-armored figure even dove through the doorway, shotgun brandished before him as if expecting a fight even in there.

“No shit.  We’ve been hearing it for the better part of twenty minutes.” Church’s sarcastic tone filtered in from behind Grif.  There was an oddly approving look in his blue eyes all the same, “Sort of impressed you guys have held out this long though.”

The older man scoffed, his visor turning in the prisoner’s direction, “Damn straight we have.  We might not have as fancy weapons or the numbers you Above Grounders do, but we do have strategy and the ability to kick ass all the same!”

“Okay, that sounded like an afterschool special that went horribly wrong somewhere along the way.”

Tucker and the rest of Red Team were somewhat relieved to see York stepping in after Sarge.  Any of the former Freelancers were definitely good to have on your side if there was a fight about to happen.

“Really?  If that had played as one in a video reel, I’d probably have been a lot more likely to have paid attention.” Tucker joked, though he bounced back to a serious disposition afterwards fairly quickly given the gunfire they could hear echoing outside, “So, what the fuck is going on then?”

“We’re under attack, that’s what!” Sarge was starting to pace impatiently around the area, body language tense and agitated.  Not being directly involved in a fight usually did that to him, “Probably on account of these three here.  Or at least they’re the excuse for it.” He cast looks at all of the prisoners in their holding cells before sighing, “Knew I didn’t like that whole ‘Surrender’ option for a reason.”

Church rolled his eyes, “Yeah and we were fucking thrilled with it too.  Not to mention the whole ‘getting killed’ alternative was just fucking awesome also.”

The ex-Freelancer in their midst coughed uncomfortably, shooting Church an apologetic look, “Actually, that might still end up happening regardless.  Sorry.”

“What?” Church gave him a blank look, the Above Grounder not sure what York was referring to.

Grif could practically feel Simmons tense behind him.  He glanced over at him, seeing the pale redhead trying to school his expression into a more controlled-looking one and not doing the greatest job with it.

Surprisingly, it was Tucker who spoke up before anyone else on the subject, “Why would that happen?” he asked, genuinely sounding curious, “Did Kimball or someone else give out an execution order?”

Sarge harrumphed, “Don’t be ridiculous.  Executing them now wouldn’t make a lick of difference.  This whole thing’s escalated into something else entirely.”

“The ‘rescue mission’ is more than likely just a pretext.  An excuse to finally take action in the stalemate situation we’d all been stuck in more or less.” York looked pointedly at everyone in the room when he spoke, his gaze lingering especially on the three prisoners, “That’s just how Above Ground operates.”

“It is their usual pattern when it comes to tactical decisions regarding the Slums.” Sheila’s voice stated softly in agreement.

“Parece que los dos nos vendría bien un empleo diferente.” _{“Sounds like we both could use different employment.”}_

She inclined her head slightly, as if in agreement to Lopez’s statement.  It was odd to see the brown-armored robot almost fidget in a decidedly nervous-looking way in response.

“Well, yeah, we all pretty much know the Council views anyone who isn’t them as chopped liver.” Church shrugged indifferently at the sentiment, “Still doesn’t explain how we could end up dead as a result of this.”

“While we _are_ holding our own pretty admirably all things considered, the situation is getting worse by the second.” York’s tone was surprisingly patient given what was going on, “In a lot of areas around the base already we’re kind of getting our asses kicked and it’s starting to spill over inside of the base now too.”

“Above Grounders aren’t exactly well viewed here, besides.” Sarge cut in, his voice gruff and serious, “Pretty much everyone knows you three were here before this whole thing went down.”

“S—so they’ll blame us for it.” Simmons’ voice was strangely quiet when he spoke, barely a whisper.

Sarge sighed, almost sounding regretful, “’Fraid so, son.”

“Regardless of orders otherwise, we might get killed just because some of your fighters want to vent their frustrations on Above Grounders.” Church’s eyes narrowed as he spoke, realizing the direction of the conversation.

“There’s a lot of hatred for Above Ground here.  Especially its soldiers.” The old man was muttering now, “If it were up to me, now that you’re here I’d give you the option to join the fight if you wanted, but that probably won’t fly with most people here.  They’re liable to shoot you so much as look at you.”

“Fucking great.”

Grif frowned, “So what are we going to do then?  Stand here and wait for someone to come in and shoot them?” he couldn’t even look at Simmons or the others at this point, an odd surge of panic rising in his chest at the thought, “We can’t just let that happen!”

Sarge almost seemed surprised at the passionate outburst from his laziest recruit, though he quickly turned it around to the usual frustration he had for pretty much everything his orange-armored subordinate said, “Of course not, numb nuts!  Everyone has their orders in this situation and right now ours are _still_ guard duty.  If someone comes in here with murder on their mind, even one of our own, they’re going to get a shotgun to the face.”

Grif turned around to cast a reassuring look at his friend, but Simmons’ eyes were fixed pointedly on the floor.  The whole ordeal was no doubt incredibly nerve-wracking for him and Church in particular.  Not that Sheila was probably thrilled with it either, it was just hard to completely wrap one’s head around what emotions robots felt if you weren’t one.  There wasn’t really anything Grif could do to make Simmons feel better—which sucked, majorly.

“Wow, I feel so much safer now.”

Though apparently Church’s way of dealing with the stress was to be a sarcastic asshole, like always.

“Oh can it, blue, you’re almost as bad as Grif.”

Grif ignored the questioning look the man in cobalt armor shot his way and sighed.  Even with actual fighting going on, apparently Sarge would never give him a break from the insults.

He supposed he should just be grateful that he hadn’t given him an order to run through the corridors screaming to distract Above Ground attention from the more “valuable” Resistance fighters yet.  …Though he suspected it was only a matter of time before that order happened.

“But even if it’s a fake one, it’s still a rescue mission probably, right?” Donut finally chimed in, his voice rather shaky and not nearly as energetic as it normally was, “So, if these guys are returned then--”

York shook his head regretfully, cutting the younger fighter off, “There’s no way to tell what would happen now.”

“But—it might be worth trying still, right?”

Grif turned slightly, surprised to hear Simmons finally saying something about what was going on.

The maroon soldier seemed nervous at the attention as everyone turned to him, but he plowed on through, “If us getting back to the Above Ground troops means the possibility that the fighting might stop than less Resistance fighters could be hurt or worse!”

“Yeah, or the three of you could be killed trying to even fucking get to them!” Grif interjected so quickly that his brain barely had time to wonder at the vehemence his words held at the suggestion.

Simmons looked as if he wanted to argue back and Grif was already trying to come up with a counterpoint.  Not having the time for dwelling on the “why” behind it didn’t change that he really didn’t want to see Simmons get killed here—or even the other two Above Grounders, probably.

York cut in again before either person could speak: “Wouldn’t be worth the risk unless we had some security measure up, I’m afraid.”

“So we fucking get one.” Church was adamant, “Sounds like one of the only ‘better’ options we have at the moment.”

“There’s got to be something.” Tucker grabbed onto one of the bars of Church’s cell for balance as another explosion rocked the area just as he finished talking.

“You mean something along the lines of a potentially more secure route?”

It was Kimball’s voice that had spoken just then and all heads had swiveled in the direction of the entryway to find her standing there along with Tex.

“Hey, cock bites, don’t go deciding things without us.” The black-armored figure said.

Church looked ready to spit something back at her for that when the entire base was suddenly swallowed in pitch blackness.

“Shit, looks like they found that power supply.” York mumbled.

“¿Lo crees?” _{“You think?”}_

Four things happened pretty simultaneously following that.

The first was a distinct whirring noise filling the air just as the auxiliary power flickered dimly on.  Not only had they been suddenly in total darkness for a few seconds, but apparently Donut had somehow managed in that brief amount of time to trip on an unseen object and hit the switches that controlled the cell locking mechanics.

So, secondly, the cells were open now.

Third, Grif suddenly felt himself being pulled back into something very hard and solid from behind.  An armored arm snaked around his body from his neck and shoulder to his ribcage, effectively pinning his right arm to the side of his body in the process.

Fourth, and probably the most prevalent in his mind as he really wished he had fucking found his damn helmet earlier, the gun he’d been holding before was now pressed firmly into his forehead’s left temple.

Richard “Dick” Simmons was shaking slightly, but there was a determined note to his voice as he somehow managed to steady himself enough to get out, “We’re leaving.  _Now_.”

There was a tense silence for a few seconds, only broken by a rather surprised Church simply going, “Fuck.”

A sentiment Grif really wanted to vocalize as well but couldn’t because the arm pressing down on his chest and throat was _really_ pressing down hard and it was a struggle just to keep breathing—let alone try to say anything.  Given how tense Simmons was, he probably didn’t even remember how strong his cybernetic limbs could be at this moment in time.

Tucker and Donut both backed away slightly, though the teal-armored fighter’s hand was gripping his sword tightly.  Donut seemed to be fidgeting nervously, an apologetic note to his overall body language as he looked at his teammate given his accidental involvement in what had happened.

Sarge scoffed, shotgun pointed at the cyborg and his hostage, then swinging over to Church and Sheila as well once they started moving to join them.

“Son, ya really couldn’t have picked a worse hostage.”

Grif had to avoid the urge to give the old man the finger with his left hand, not sure what would happen if he moved around much.

On one hand, a part of him was really hoping that Simmons wouldn’t shoot him.  Hell, given how his friend had been acting earlier, a part of him really hoped he had maybe hit his head earlier and was just having a messed up dream.

This was _Simmons_ he was talking about, after all!  Even though a lot of years had passed, he hadn’t seemed to change much when they’d been able to talk earlier.

But he also knew that they were in the middle of a war too and things had been getting pretty desperate.  Having a gun to his head, even if held by someone he considered a friend, wasn’t something he _shouldn’t_ have expected either given what was going on.

Simmons flinched slightly and Grif could feel the other man shaking even through their armor.  The arm pulled even tighter and Grif had to adjust his footing slightly to keep his feet on the ground.  Simmons was almost draped over him now—it was somehow odd being aware of that.  He had to take in a few shallow breaths to get air back into his lungs.

“I—I didn’t want to take _any_ hostage.” He said, “Or hurt anyone.  But we need to get out of here for everyone’s sake!”

“So you figured a hostage would make it less likely any Resistance members would try killing you on your way out.” Sarge’s _actual_ military training seemed to show up in very odd instances, “Makes sense, I suppose.”

Grif rolled his eyes.  Figures Sarge would find some way to be slightly impressed in a situation where Grif had a gun to his head.

“That’s your security measure then?” York seemed to understand what that meant too.

“But there’s still the chance that some asshole wouldn’t care about a hostage!” Tucker argued back, his tone angry.

He was right, of course.  _Most_ Resistance members would probably give pause if one of their own was held hostage, but that wasn’t a guarantee for all of them.  If someone hated Above Grounders enough, the sacrifice of a fellow fighter could be well worth it to them in the end if they were able to get rid of three of them.

Tex turned to look at Kimball, who gave a slight nod in response.  The leader of the Resistance stepped forward into the space then, clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Before things get too heated here, may I say something?”

Church stared at her, recognition on his face, “You’re the one we met when we were first brought here.”

“Vanessa Kimball.  I serve as the leader of the Resistance, more or less.”

His eyes narrowed, “That’s just fucking super for you.  I’m sure you’re very proud.”

Sarge muttered angrily, but Kimball held out her hand and he refrained from saying or doing anything else in response.

“You had mentioned something about an escape route before the power to the base had been cut off, I believe?” Sheila asked, not allowing Church to say anything else either.  Apparently she seemed to think it best to move the conversation along quickly given what had happened.

The woman exchanged a look once more with Tex before nodding slightly, “Yes.  We may have a route to where some of the Above Grounder troops are located that doesn’t have as much Resistance presence in it.”

“And you were going to just let us out and waltz on through it?” Church scoffed in disbelief, “Why?”

She fixed him with a steady gaze, “Because we will be in a very desperate way if this fighting continues for much longer and I will not give your Council an excuse to take this out on the Slums once we’re out of the picture.”

When he said nothing in response as her tone hadn’t really left much room for discussion then, she continued, “Whether it was a ploy or not, this whole debacle started as a rescue mission for your team.  It’s only a remote possibility that the fighting in this instance will stop if you get back to Above Ground safely, but it is the only chance we have at the moment for any sort of temporary ceasefire.”

“Only way out of the cluster-fuck, as it were.” Church finished for her.

“You’re learning military.” Tex sounded almost impressed.

He shrugged, “I was bound to pick up a few things, eventually.”

“I bet your aim is still awful though.”

He let out a tired, embarrassed sigh, “Shut up, bitch.”

Sheila turned to her two teammates during the exchange between the former couple, “It does seem like a more logical plan than we would have otherwise.”

“It’s pretty much the only one we have at this point, Sheila.” Church muttered, “Since they’re trying to save their own asses too I don’t think they’d lie.”

“Of course not.” Sarge harrumphed at the notion, “Why go through all that trouble when we could have just shoot you here and saved ourselves some time?”

With his two teammates staring at him and leaving the decision up to him ( _fuck it, he sort of hated having been made the leader sometimes_ ), Church sighed, “Well it’s not like we have much of a fucking choice, huh?  Lead the way, lady.”

“Thank you.” Kimball motioned towards Simmons, who was still holding onto Grif in what could probably be best described as a death grip, “Now, if you’d just let him go we’ll—“

_“No.”_

Surprisingly, it was both Church _and_ Tex who said that.  The two stared at each other for a long moment, Tex ignoring the surprised looks from the other Resistance members around her.

“What?  Why the fuck not when you guys have some secure route for them?” Tucker shouted in frustration.

“Why the Sam Hill wouldn’t we want that?” even Sarge apparently was surprised by her outburst, “Grif could be infinitely more useful being a meat-shield for us during that time frame!”

Okay, Grif _did_ give him the finger at that point, but the gesture was lost on everyone since they weren’t paying much attention to him right then.

“Even if we do use this supposedly secure route, we’ll need a reason why we’re no longer in jail _and_ we’ll still need an added security measure to avoid any of your people getting trigger-happy on us.” Church explained instead of the former Freelancer.  He decidedly did not look at Grif when he spoke, his voice sounding more devoid of emotion than it ever had while he was here.

Tex nodded in agreement, “He’s right.  Having a Resistance member hostage would make the situation of their ‘escape’ more believable to Above Ground in general and it would make other Resistance fighters they came across more hesitant to try anything in retaliation.”

“That’s bullshit!” Tucker protested.

“No.  It’s war and a sucky situation besides.” Tex replied flatly.

“So Tubby will have to come with us.” Church said with a large degree of finality.

Shit.  This whole thing was going downhill way too fucking fast.

Grif was almost glad to find that a weird sense of calmness was overtaking his nerves at this point, similar in a way to how he had felt when his mother had left.

If he wanted to see Kai again and if he didn’t want to find out if Simmons would in fact blow his brains out over this, he needed to focus on that calmness, probably.

Kimball would agree to it and he knew she would: one potential soldier loss against potential countless more.  It sucked but he understood it, just as he understood why things had happened the way they had.  …Didn’t mean he wasn’t upset with Simmons still or anything (he was kind of _pissed_ ), but he understood it all the same.

She looked him in the eyes and just as she had when they’d had the conversation that eventually caused him to sign up for the Resistance in the first place, it seemed as if she could read what was going through his mind just then.

“Agreed.” She finally said to Church, “But he is to be released unharmed when you get through the route, understood?”

He nodded.

Behind him, Grif could hear Simmons sigh shakily in relief.  It was odd how no breath came through his mouth or nose at the sigh though.  The tan man wasn’t sure if he wanted to yell in frustration or feel relieved himself that his friend wasn’t eager to see him get killed either despite everything.

…Both, probably.

“We’ll try to.” Church said, quickly adding to it, “Right, Simmons?”

“R—right.” His hold tightened a fraction more and Grif winced.  Clearly Simmons really wasn’t aware of how strong his new body parts were.

“Besides,” Church glanced over at Tex once more, an expression that was hard to place flickering across his face as he did so, “I have a feeling someone will come around to collect his ass soon enough afterwards.”

“Of course.  No one should leave teammates behind.  No matter what.” There was some other meaning veiled in her words, but damned if Grif could understand what it was.

“Damn straight!  How else will I berate Grif for being stupid enough to get taken unawares in the first place?” Sarge yelled out as well.

_Wow, fucking feel the love._

“Fuck it.” Tucker didn’t seem to like the idea at all, but he seemed to realize that he had no real choice but to go along with it anyways—grudgingly moving out of the way of the small Above Ground group in the process.

Lopez surprised everyone, however, but stepping over to them and holding out his gun to Sheila.

“Es posible que tenga esto.” _{“You might need this.”}_

She accepted it gratefully, “Thank you very much, Lopez.  I hope we meet again.”

“Sólo espero que mis sistemas de refrigeración están funcionando normalmente para entonces. Estoy empezando a sentir sudorosos una vez más.” _{“I just hope my cooling systems are functioning normally by then.  I’m starting to feel sweaty once more.”}_

Church turned to Donut, suddenly getting an idea, “Hey, kid, give me your gun too.”

The younger man glanced nervously at Grif and then over to Sarge who gave him a quick nod, “Better do it just to make sure the damn idiots don’t get killed and make all of this a waste of time.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, old man.”

“Don’t mention it, dirt bag.”

Church took the proffered gun, giving a slight nod of thanks for it before turning to face Kimball again.

“All right then, so where is this escape route exactly?”

*****

“It’s done.” She said over the comm-link, not really expecting acknowledgment for the remark and not receiving any.  It would have been different if there had been complications, but her informing them of a routine mission run didn’t really warrant any real response unless Carolina had decided to give out new orders.

As soon as the power supply was shut C.T. moved away from the terminal and counted the seconds until the dim recess lighting that served as the emergency power for this area of tunnels kicked in.  They were programmed to come on whenever a major blackout occurred, but all of the main lighting sources and most other functions that used the primary power would be completely out of commission.

She was literally in the underbelly of the beast: the area that ran power for that portion of the mines was located under the Resistance base and off to the side farther away from everything.  It was the power supply for not only the tunnels the Resistance was actively using at the moment, but for several miles of other corridors too.

Hopefully no one from the Slums had decided to wander through those areas today.  They were going to be in for a rather rude surprise if they had.

Even from this far away, though, she could perceive slight tremors.  The walls shook somewhat and a few loose rocks and debris moved about on the ground near her feet.

Above Ground had definitely brought the heavy artillery for this fight.

She was rather relieved to be somewhat removed from the slaughter, having only had to dispatch the odd guard here and there in order to reach this section of the mines.

Though being down here in general always made her feel strange in a way, especially when by herself.  Try as hard as she could to avoid it, she would always start remembering _his_ talk on the place from having grown up here, from when he’d actually shown her some of these very same passageways years ago.

 No time to dwell on that now, though—not when she had another part to play in this assignment.

Right, because shutting the power off was only phase one for her.  Carolina had given her the task of using the fighting as a distraction to hopefully find Simmons and the others.

Not that she knew that C.T. was already well-aware of exactly where they were thanks to her communications with Tex or that the defector had arranged with the Resistance leader for Connecticut to have a clear route to them so that the mission could be finished as quickly as possible.

She was just about to head in that very direction when a message came in from Tex again.  She frowned as she brought it up to read inside her helmet.

Slight change of plans, then.

With the situation at the base being extremely volatile, directly getting to the “prisoners” would have been problematic.  Kimball and Tex had been forced to come up with an alternative rather quickly.

Turning to the terminal that displayed a power grid map layout of the area, she traced a line on one portion of it.  While the rest of the screen remained a shiny black, a glowing white line the width of a narrow pencil point remained on that section of the map when she removed her gloved hand.

_“The lift in the shaft you specified is operational again.”_

Her message to Tex was brief, but succinct.  She supposed she was just lucky that she hadn’t been on her way back when she’d gotten the alert.  Any later and she probably would have had to backtrack to get back here or come up with another plan entirely.

_“I’ll be at the transport then.”_

As she headed that way, the Freelancer tried coming up with a believable enough reason as to why she couldn’t continue on with the assignment that Carolina had given her, hoping that there weren’t any more issues involving the situation coming from either side.

She was pretty much certain there would be before this whole battle was over with though, unfortunately.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I was planning on having it posted last week, but the chapter actually kept getting larger as I wrote it and since so many things happen with this “battle” I kind of just wanted to keep going until I had finished. XD It has now spilled over into more than one chapter, haha!
> 
> This is actually only the first portion of the “story arc”. I have it completely written up, so after the next chapter is looked over by my awesome beta reader it will be posted here. So expect only a one or two day waiting period, really. Hopefully the multiple chapter postings and what will happen next will make up for the longer wait!
> 
> Next up, *more* things go down—with plenty of Grimmons and other character interactions too (including the beginning stages of the Tuckington subplot for this fic, woot~!).
> 
> Thank you for reading and, as always, I hope this chapter and the ones that will follow shortly after are both enjoyable reads for you! :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Eight:

The gunshot went off close by his shoulder and Washington cursed having to be locked in a firefight with North of all people.

He fired a shot of his own and was slightly gleeful (not that he would show it) that North had to move out of the way instead of just firing off another bullet in retaliation.

“Your aim has gotten better.” His former teammate said almost conversationally despite the current standoff.

“Yours seems about the same.” Washington called out from behind his hiding spot in a recessed alcove, “Though you’re not really aiming for anything vital.”

He could almost picture the frown that was forming on the other blonde’s face under his helmet at that, “I don’t want to kill you, Wash.”

Of course not.  North Dakota was kind-hearted, the sort to always look after his teammates.  No doubt the decision to leave had been extremely hard for him.  It had probably been bad enough for North just abandoning Washington, let alone Theta later on after what happened during the defection itself, like they had.

“I don’t plan on letting you do that either.” Washington dove out and fired another round, noting the definite slowness of North’s dodging response that time.

Right, because South had shot him before.  He’d heard about that later, after everything had occurred.

Soft-heartedness would only get you killed in this line of work.  …Or abandoned and betrayed.  Take your pick.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caboose still standing there, his body language indicating confusion.  The mech, Freckles, stood stock-still some meters behind him assessing the situation.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake!_

“Caboose, go behind Freckles!”

It would be one thing if Caboose attacked him or something and he’d had to kill him then, but it would be something else entirely if the simple-minded fighter who resembled far too much a little kid in his mind was killed in the crossfire between him and North.

Not that there was much chance of that happening on North’s end.  He was a controlled, precision shot-maker and he’d been holding back on firing whenever it seemed the young man could be hit.  No, Washington was more worried about any other potential people who might decide to join the fray later.

North seemed surprised at his statement to Caboose and tilted his head slightly in a questioning motion.  Washington chose to ignore the movement entirely.

“Oh, but the two of you are such good friends!”

How Caboose got “friends” from a gunfight in the middle of a corridor he’d never know, even with the conversation they were having being as tame as it was.

Despite himself, the audacity of the comment caused him to respond.

“We used to be.” Washington’s throat constricted slightly the moment he said that.

“Wash…”

“A lot of things have happened since though.” He glanced over at Caboose again, gun still aimed at North, “Get over to Freckles, Caboose.”

“But the two of you should catch up then.”

Caboose wasn’t listening.  Typical though, no one seemed to listen to Washington.

Besides he really couldn’t afford to keep diverting his attention between potential targets.

“I’m sorry we left you there.”

_Don’t shake, damn it!_   He fought to keep his hand steady as Washington registered the defector’s words.

“Things were chaotic and we had no time.  We didn’t mean—“ North was lowering his gun as he was speaking and Washington had to fight the urge to yell at him for taking an action the former Freelancer knew full well was foolish and to keep it up.

“I was a liability then.” Washington was surprised his voice didn’t shake, “I don’t blame you.”

_But I have my orders and even if you’re acting like my friend I will shoot you if you get in my way._

He didn’t say it, but his rigid body posture and pointed gun spoke volumes.

North regarded him carefully, sympathetically—and Washington wished he could tell the older man to shove it.

He could not afford to remember in any way how he used to be: the naïve younger teammate everyone teased and looked out for.  Not now.  There was no way to ever go back to that person.

Though a small sliver of that former self probably did poke through a little when he spoke next.

“You were all still a bunch of dicks though.”

An exhale, probably a slight chuckle, came from the other man.  It was harder than he thought to interact with North like this—he was torn between almost wanting to laugh and cry himself.

Just like with Caboose, he didn’t want to shoot North either if he could avoid it.  Washington didn’t want to be in his former teammate’s presence either though: North made him remember too much, and he was still trying to find _something_ that was separate to hold onto since he’d lost everything else.  Better to keep a far distance from it entirely, if he could.  He couldn’t and he knew it, but it would be better if he could.  That much he was certain of.

He sighed, “North, take Caboose and get away from the base.”

North was a little puzzled but didn’t seem particularly shocked by the request, “Why?”

“Because I’m not the only Freelancer here and I doubt very much any of the others would hesitate to kill you.” Washington said pointedly, his voice flat.

“Thanks for the heads up, but I can handle myself just fine, kid.” North reminded him gently.

“Even if you ran into South?”

North stiffed and Washington continued knowing that maybe he could use North’s reaction to the possibility of his twin sister being here to get him to listen to him, “She’s here too, you know.”

“I—“

“ _Caboose!_ ”

Washington was really starting to lose count of how many times Hell broke loose while on this mission as a teal blur raced forward past North and straight for him.  He barely had time to dodge an energy blade nearly ripping into his armor.

“What the—“

“Tucker!” North shouted, clearly referring to the newcomer.

“Hey, Tucker!” Caboose exclaimed happily as well, “You say hello really funny to new friends.”

The armored figure turned to Washington again and practically snarled at him, the alien sword in his hand out at the ready once more.

“I am really fucking pissed off at you dicks right now so back off, asshole!”

*****

Things had definitely gotten out of hand incredibly fast.  York blinked, trying to pinpoint when exactly it had all started.

In this case, probably the second that Florida’s team had been given the assignment to travel down here.  Going back even before that though?  Fuck, if he knew.

Kimball and Tex had left with the “prisoners” and Grif to show them the route they would take.

_“Sarge, be ready to follow in ten minutes.” Kimball had advised him, “We’ll need your team to provide support.”_

_“Yes, sir!” he saluted, and York could practically see the manic gleam in his eyes even through his red helmet’s visor.  Well, he’d seen it more than enough times to actually be able to picture it pretty clearly in his head now at any rate._

_“I guess I’ll stick with them then, if you don’t mind.” York had said, gesturing over to Red Team._

_“Suit yourself.”_

_Tex’s words of encouragement were always good to hear, he recalled with a wry smile.  As was the nod from Kimball indicating it was all right before she disappeared from view completely._

_And Tucker?  Well, the poor guy had a lot on his plate and, as much as it sucked, Tucker only had the time to focus on one of the pressing issues surrounding them at the moment.  While it was pretty obvious that he was upset over what had happened with his friend, York also knew he had a teammate missing in action to contend with._

_“Fuck this shit.” He’d said the minute he was alone with York and what remained of Red Team, “I need to find Caboose—I don’t even_ want _to think of what kind of trouble he’s getting into during this.”_

_Sarge nodded understandably, “He’s your teammate, son.  That takes priority.”_

_“You guys better rescue that fat-ass though.” Tucker’s sword was already gripped tightly in his hand, “I really don’t want to tell his sister that he got killed in some domestic squabble!”_

_York glanced over questioningly to Donut, but the “lightish red” soldier shook his head and stage whispered, “I’ll fill you in later—and tell you about that too!”_

_Okay, sometimes York wasn’t sure how much he really wanted to know about these guys at all._

_Sarge harrumphed, practically shoving the teal soldier out the door, “Son, we don’t need you to tell us that.  Red Team takes care of our own, even if one of us is as lazy and worthless as Grif.  About time you did the same.”_

_“Say hi to Caboose for me when you see him!” Donut called out cheerily from behind._

Which pretty much led up to the four remaining men (well, three men and one Spanish speaking robot if you were going to be “uber-technical”) drawing out their battle plan.  Not that it really was going to be much of one: they’d need to get more weapons for Lopez and Donut, then they’d probably just follow the carnage that Tex would no doubt leave in her wake.

“All right, men,” Sarge did like to spell things out for everyone still though, “Let’s regroup and get some more firepower.  Operation: Kicking Above Ground Ass is about to commence full circle!”

“Um,” Donut tapped his helmet contemplatively, “That title isn’t very catchy, Sarge.”

“Además, ¿no esfaltael punto enterode mierda?” _{“Besides, isn’t it missing the whole fucking point?”}_

“Lopez is right, we can’t forget about Grif too!”

The robot turned to look at Donut, acting as though he were astonished by something.

“Wow, yo soy una especie de impresionado que en realidad tienes que algo de razón, por una vez.” _{“Wow, I am kind of impressed that you actually got that somewhat right for once.”}_

The younger fighter waved his hand in the air, “Lopez and I vote for a name change!”

“No importa. Usted acaba arruinado.” _{“Never mind.  You just ruined it.”}_

Their commanding officer sighed, “Fine.  I guess we can call it Operation: Kick Ass and Maybe Rescue Lazy Orange Dirt Bag instead.”

“There you go, Sarge, that’s more like it!”

York had to fight the sudden urge to bang his head repeatedly into a nearby wall.  Things could certainly be entertaining with these guys sometimes and he had a feeling they’d probably need some help if they were going to be following after Tex as they planned, but their eccentricities could be a little off-putting.

He was starting to wonder if it was already too late to join up with Tex and Kimball.

Lopez noticed his reaction and shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“Bienvenido a mi mundo.” _{“Welcome to my world.”}_

*****

To say that Tucker was good and pissed by the time he had finally found Caboose still near the outskirts of the base was probably the biggest understatement of the year.

He was well and truly _furious_ : not only was one of his oldest friends now a hostage in a really fucked up turn of events, but in practically every corridor and room he came across there was fighting and people lying on the ground either dead or dying.

Several of those people were familiar faces to him from around the base—people he’d shared stories with or who laughed at his exasperation over the antics of his teammate in the mess hall during quieter hours.

He’d look at them and try not to think of Grif or Caboose lying there.  He didn’t want to wonder if that was how his mother must have looked during the fire.

He was just grateful that he’d sent Junior home earlier.  Yes, his son was actually surprisingly capable of handling himself given the other side of his family tree, but now he understood why Grif probably didn’t like Kai coming here even if not taking into account her party girl side.  The likelihood of something like this happening wasn’t small.  Truthfully, it was probably a fucking miracle an outright confrontation hadn’t taken place before this.

Now if he could just find Caboose, at least he’d be able to scratch one worry off of his list.  Provided he wasn’t bleeding out in a tunnel somewhere.

That thought made him speed up more, so he was a ball of nerves and rage when he finally did come across his teammate.

Caboose had been with Freckles still, thankfully.  Tucker wouldn’t trust the damn thing to not shoot him at some point, but he did seem oddly attached to Caboose which was especially good news in the all-out firefight the battle had become.  His blue-armored teammate was just standing there in the middle of a tunnel littered with bodies and debris like it was nothing.

Figured, here Tucker was all frustrated and worried over him and Caboose probably didn’t even realize just how dangerous things were.  He couldn’t decide if he wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that that was the case or sigh in exasperation over it instead.

North was there as well and the person in steel and yellow battle armor standing between the two Resistance fighters wasn’t someone Tucker recognized.

He also had a gun pointed directly at the former Freelancer.

North was saying something to the person and his sniper rifle was lowered, but Tucker wasn’t really in the mood or right frame of mind to hold back and read the situation carefully.  Especially not with Caboose standing _right there_ , seemingly nonplussed that a gun could be pointed at him in a matter of seconds.

Generally speaking, in his mind, when a fight was going on and someone had a gun pointed at you they would be counted as the enemy.

…Which is how Lavernius Tucker ended up between his teammate and an armed Above Grounder, sword already out and swinging even as the enemy combatant was moving out of his initial surprise and managed to dodge the swipe.

“Tucker!” it was North who called out his name as the Above Ground soldier removed one of his hands from the gun he’d been holding seconds before.  With the momentum of dodging the sword strike, he grabbed onto Tucker’s arm and threw the dark skinned man over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

The impact with the ground _hurt_ and he could see stars floating around his visor as he moved to roll over from being sprawled out on his back to his side.  If he could get up on his knees, then…

The sound of a gun being cocked extremely close to the back of his head gave him pause, as did the harsh sounding “Don’t move.” a few seconds later.

_Fuck, what is with these people and guns to the head?_

Tucker’s sword was only a meter or so away if he could reach it.  He debated his chances and odds.  They weren’t very good probably, given how fast the guy had moved.

“You’re fast, I’ll give you that.” The man was speaking in an almost conversational tone, though he sounded pretty annoyed all the same, “But you could definitely use more training.  That follow-through was beyond sloppy.”

Oh, shit, this jerk was _not_ going to be one of those types who would blab on about how he’d made a critical mistake before he shot him!  Even in this situation, the cliché was too much for him not to mock.

“Really?” Tucker smirked from behind his helmet, “Because that’s not what she said last night, bow-chicka-bow-wow!”

_That_ gave the asshole pause.

He tilted his head slightly, probably regarding Tucker strangely.  Getting people to lower their guard by being his usual ridiculous, immature self: it made _perfect_ fucking sense from a strategic stance.

“That…doesn’t even make any remote sense given the context of what I said.  At all.”

The surprised frustration in the Above Grounder’s voice lessened how harsh he had sounded earlier.  Maybe he wasn’t quite the old hard-ass Tucker had thought he was before.

“Whatever, dude, I just call them like I see them.”

“Washington.” North was speaking again and Tucker could make out that he now had his sniper rifle out and pointed at the person towering above him, “Tucker is Caboose’s teammate.”

Washington glanced down at him again and Tucker raised an eyebrow questioningly.  Why would this guy give a fuck if he was Caboose’s teammate or not?

“Tucker and I go way back.” Caboose spoke up at the mention of his name.  He then attempted to mimic Donut’s mastery of the stage-whisper, “Even if he is not really wearing blue and not very smart.”

“Caboose, I can fucking hear you!” Tucker called out in frustration.

“His hearing is good though.”

“That’s because you weren’t really whispering!”

Throughout the exchange, the man called Washington seemed to be debating something to himself, though Tucker really wished he could have fucking debated whatever it was without the gun pointed at _his_ head.

“If you shoot him, there’s no guarantee Caboose’s dog won’t react.” North continued, voice calm and controlled, “I won’t hesitate to shoot either.”

A stand-off.  Fucking great.

Tucker really wished he had his sword in his hand right now.

“Your move, Wash.”

However Washington would have responded was completely made moot when a gunshot embedded itself on the ground right near Tucker’s hand and the Above Grounder’s foot.

Washington spun around, dodging another bullet that came whizzing through the air at him.

“Knock knock.” A man in white armor called out with a British accent, aiming a sniper rifle steady at the group.

“Wyoming?  What the hell?” Washington asked.

A teammate of his, it seemed like.

“Not very sporting of you to not continue the joke, Washington.” His tone was casual as he fired again, this time at North who barely maneuvered out of the way in time, “Ah, North, I see our dear Agent South didn’t exaggerate your injury then.  That shot would have barely reached you before.”

“Firing on teammates now?” North took cover behind a piece of rubble, lining the white-armored man in his sights.

Tucker used the focus being on this Wyoming person to dive for his sword, though he remained lying there when a bullet flew past his shoulder.

“Stopped being a team quite some time ago, don’t you think?” Wyoming asked, “Right now all I’m doing is getting rid of a traitor and a potential traitor.  All for a handsome reward, mind you.”

“The people you know are fucking awesome, North!” Tucker risked calling out from where he was pinned on the floor.

North glanced at him apologetically before firing at Wyoming and ducking behind the rubble again to avoid the counter attack sent his way.

“Though this would probably go easier if I had more firepower.” Wyoming paused, glancing over at the lumbering assault droid, “Getting that mech to go on a rampage should make things interesting.”

_Oh, no!  Oh, fuck no!_

Tucker struggled to get up again, surprised to note that time seemed to be practically standing still and he was moving slowly, far too slowly to reach Caboose.

Just like with his mother, he remembered, and he hated himself for remembering that right now.

Wyoming aimed and fired, but the shot only went through empty air because Washington had actually _kicked_ Caboose out of the way—the bullet almost hitting his knee in the process.  A millimeter or two down and even with his armor there would have probably been blood spraying everywhere.

Caboose sprawled forward, barely keeping on his feet though he managed to get out a rushed “I’m okay!” shout while doing so.  Tucker gasped in shock that the person who had almost shot him in the head had just saved his comrade.

“COMMENCING ENEMY FIRE.”

Freckles came to life, turning to face Wyoming.

“…Might have miscalculated there.” The Freelancer managed to get out, the gunfire that subsequently filled the tunnel being a further testament to his statement.

Tucker stood up and was about to say something (wasn’t sure what, exactly—figured he’d just let his brain figure it out as it went along), when another round flew past them.

This one was coming from the side of the tunnel that North was in and he gaped at the white-armored figure standing there and looking not at all as holey as he should be.

“Good show, mates.” Wyoming’s voice had a jovial note to it, “Want to go another round?”

“How the fuck—“

“Temporal distortion.” North supplied in response before Tucker could even finish his question, whipping around to aim his gun at Wyoming’s new location, “It’s his armor enhancement.”

“Yes, _some_ of us are still lucky enough to have ours.  So sorry, chaps.”

“TARGET REACQUIRED.”

Shit, Freckles was repositioning to aim at Wyoming’s new location on the other side of the passageway and it was probably not a good idea to be standing in-between him and his target.

“Caboose, get to Freckles!” Tucker yelled out to the younger man.

Caboose, thankfully, did as he was told.

The tunnel was shaking as Freckles moved forward, and bullets were flying everywhere.  At this rate, they were all going to be pinned down here or…

_The tunnel’s going to collapse._

Tucker’s breath froze in his throat at the minute cracks forming from underneath the assault droid’s feet and spiraling outward in a pattern that was only getting larger with each passing second.

A bullet barely missed North’s helmet and Wyoming was aiming again with Washington firing at him in a distraction ploy as North managed to get himself into a doorway off to the side so that he wasn’t left out in the open thanks to Wyoming’s new location anymore.

…That’s when it hit him.

“Hey, Caboose,” Tucker called out over the near-deafening sounds of Freckles’ weapons, “Why don’t you show everyone that trick you taught Freckles?” he grinned, “Now’s the perfect time for it!  Really bring down the house!”

He saw Caboose nod slightly from behind his “dog,” “That is a great idea, Tucker!”

Then, in a loud voice, Caboose yelled: “Freckles, _SHAKE_!”

The splintering in the ground was joined by cracks in the walls and ceiling with debris falling all around as the ground started to collapse and cave-in on itself.

But Tucker tried not thinking about that or what he was doing really, somehow managing to stumble forward and latch onto the shoulder of a very surprised Washington.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see North lining up a distracted Wyoming in the scope of his sniper rifle and firing: served the fucker right.

If he could get them to behind Freckles or one of the adjacent rooms off to the side, then maybe…

But the ground underneath them couldn’t hold out any longer and suddenly they were in the air.  That was the last cognizant thought he was able to make before the walls and ceiling came crashing down on them and Tucker knew only darkness.

*****

The “route” Kimball had talked about turned out to be a tunnel located further inside the base.  It led to a smaller corridor along the outskirts of the base that they generally never used save for the odd supply run.  Actually, it was one of Grif’s prime napping spots when he wasn’t on duty or trying to shirk said duty when Sarge wanted him to do something idiotic again.

It led to a mining shaft that had a lift designed to haul miners and their equipment either further down below or to the higher tunnel levels just below the planet’s surface and Above Ground.

The power had always been shitty in this particular section, which was pretty much why the tunnel wasn’t used too frequently.  It was a pain enough moving things around in the dark.  Getting stuck on a lift in near darkness was no one’s idea of a picnic, so it really didn’t matter much after the blackout that only the emergency power was on.

After going with them to the start of the tunnel as protection since _no one_ was stupid enough to bother Tex if they wanted to keep breathing and a stand down order from Kimball would probably be more than enough to deter most Resistance fighters even if they did have some sort of stupid revenge scheme on hand (she could be pretty scary when provoked herself, after all!), Kimball and Tex held back.

Understandable, really.  Kimball being around would make the “escape” very suspicious and Tex was probably a walking target to Above Ground military given her defection status.

Which meant that Grif would be on his own with the three Above Ground soldiers for a while with a gun to his head and still struggling to breathe because Simmons was terrified as all Hell himself apparently and didn’t realize that mostly metal arms were kind of strong.

Kimball shot him a look, and Grif couldn’t tell if it was an apologetic one or some kind of mental assurance that he wouldn’t be on his own for too long.  He never was good at assessing body language, and helmets were _not_ the see-all to facial expressions others might claim them to be, but it really didn’t matter as gunfire could be heard from further inside the base and he caught a glimpse of the Resistance leader and Tex running in that direction to provide support while the three Above Grounders took full advantage of the chaos that was erupting in the base to run down the corridor and Grif being dragged, almost accidentally strangled, along with them.

He’d never been so happy to see that dingy, shitty elevator life in his entire life.  He’d never run that far or fast save when he’d been fleeing for his life from the massacre on Level One.

None of the soldiers seemed to have that particular issue of his.  Then again, Sheila was a robot and Simmons didn’t have lungs anymore from what he’d said before.  For all of his complaining, he supposed it was possible that Church was really actually pretty fit since he was a soldier and everything, though it did seem odd that he wasn’t really showing _any_ signs of physical exertion when even Simmons had some sweat forming on the parts of his face that were still flesh and blood.

Oh well, not that it really mattered.  Grif didn’t really care at all if the lift broke and they got stuck at this point or it careened down to the very bottom of the shaft: he was getting a break from the running for at least a little while and that was all that mattered.

They stepped onto the lift, which was literally just an open platform that moved the entirety of the shaft.  Since it was meant to be able to carry numerous people and heavy, often rather large and bulky pieces of equipment at the same time it wasn’t practical for the lift to be enclosed like how they often were in actual buildings.

There was a panel with control mechanisms located directly right by where the platform connected to the entryway.

“Jesus, this thing is fucking massive.” There was almost a note of awe creeping into Church’s voice as he gazed upwards, barely able to make out the ceiling of the shaft looming high above them, “And it goes on down below us for awhile too, huh?  Shit.”

“Kimball said that an Above Ground transport was located in an area about five levels above our current location.” Sheila reminded him.

“Right.  As if the layout of this place isn’t goddamned confusing enough with all of the adjacent tunnels running everywhere with no rhyme or reason.  Multiple levels was a great idea too.”

Church turned to the controls for the lift after his rant, moving to activate them.

Frowning slightly, as if just remembering something, he stopped and turned around to face Simmons and Grif.

“Simmons, we really have no idea how this whole thing is going to play out.  You took a pretty big fucking gamble and it was the best bet we had at the time, but whatever happens from here on out with your friend, it’s on you.” He said neutrally, “No guarantees, unfortunately.”

Oh, so fucking great to be talking about like he wasn’t even there!  If Grif didn’t have to keep struggling just to breathe (thanks to a combination of the chokehold _and_ probably one too many snacks, loath as he was to admit it), he would definitely be saying something nasty back.

Simmons nodded, swallowing nervously, “I—I know, Church.”

There was a way too heavy atmosphere in the air after that, especially since it was involving him.

“Hopefully a peaceable solution will present itself and it will be a moot point.” Sheila offered to all three males consolingly.

“Yeah.  Hopefully.” Church sounded doubtful, though, which made Grif’s stomach churn.

Church activated the platform and it started its lurching progress upwards.  The lifts weren’t built for speed, but with safety in mind so they were generally slower rides all in all.  It was far quicker normally to walk if where you were going was only a matter of one or two levels.

The silence that fell after gave Grif the chance to think, though he sort of wished it hadn’t.  Before, he’d just been going with events without having time to really dwell on what exactly was going on.  Now that he was in a position where he was forced to do so, reality was far too nerve-wracking.

On the one hand, he truly believed that Simmons wasn’t planning on actually killing him.  No, he had seen what had happened when everything took place.  Had a front-line seat for it, in a way: things had just gotten too heated, too tense, and Simmons had panicked.  Things had simply escalated from that point as the reality of the situation hit everyone.  Grif had just unfortunately been the closest person around at the time.

But Simmons, Church, and Sheila being reluctant to kill him didn’t really mean a damn thing in the end depending on how this played out.  It was all fine and dandy that they didn’t want to and that they would be more than willing to just let him go on his merry little way after they reached their destination, but other Above Grounders might not be so accommodating and that was where the real concern lay.

Even still, he’d be lying if he didn’t say he wasn’t pissed at the situation.  He was mad at Simmons for what happened in the first place, mad at his teammates for going along with it, mad at Kimball for just accepting it and frustrated beyond belief that he really didn’t have any kind of say in what was going to happen next at all.

Hell, if he died, who was going to tell Kai?

He wondered if she’d cry, like she had when Tucker’s mom had been killed, or if she’d cuss him out instead.  Or both.

Grif suddenly very much regretted _ever_ agreeing to join the Resistance.  For reasons that had very little to do with the pressure still crushing down on his lungs and more to do with why he still had an involuntary gag reflex and a newfound fear of heights from a couple years back, he found that he was having a whole new level of difficulty with breathing than before.

“Grif?”

Simmons’ voice was a hesitant whisper in his ear.  He hadn’t really spoken or addressed him at all during this whole incident beyond pushing Grif along with them.  He had probably felt too guilty to do so.

_Good.  Asshole._

His voice now though forced him to focus on something else beyond the weird spots that had started to form in his vision.

Briefly, he wondered if his hitched breathing and accelerated heartbeat had sort of pushed Simmons to finally get over his own awkwardness about the situation.  Grif could practically hear his heart hammering in his own ears now.  Could Simmons somehow feel it too even through their armor thanks to his freaky new cybernetics?

Grif didn’t respond.  Right now it seemed like a far better use of time to get his lungs to start working properly (or at all would be great) and to try to _calm the fuck down_.

Whether or not Simmons could tell that he was starting to freak out he couldn’t say.  But the maroon soldier shifted position slightly, adjusting so that Grif was more or less falling back into him as they stood there instead of being forced into an awkward standing position.

The movement helped to alleviate some of his arm pressure on Grif’s chest.  Not enough to free his own arm or anything, but Grif could get air into his lungs a lot easier now when he focused on it.

“I—“ Simmons paused.  There seemed to be a lot he wanted to say, but he finally settled on: “I’m really sorry about this.”

Grif let the words linger in his brain.  At least he could breathe easier now and listening to Simmons meant he wasn’t focusing as much on more morbid topics.

“You’re doing great though.” The words were the usual nonsense kinds one normally tells someone to get them to calm down.  Who knew if Simmons honestly believed them himself or not?

“This…this will all be over before you know it.” He was trying to be assuring.  It was odd to hear it coming from Simmons given how prone he was to nervousness himself.  He must have been _really_ obviously getting upset or Simmons just felt really bad about the whole thing. Possibly both.

“You’ll see Kai again, don’t worry.”

Grif was torn between wanting to actually _cry_ (though he would vehemently deny it if asked) or yell at Simmons for being a patronizing dick even if he was trying to help and be encouraging given how awkward this whole thing was.  His eyes watered slightly in frustration regardless, which annoyed him to no end.

After a few uncomfortable moments of standing there like that, Simmons sighed.

“I really wish you had found your damn helmet.” He muttered in a whisper so low that Grif could barely hear it.

Despite the effort it took to breath, let alone talk, and how not a good time it was for nagging anyways, Grif couldn’t help but wheeze out with an accompanying roll of the eyes for good measure, “Like—like that would do a fucking thing with a gun this close to my head.”

It wasn’t a situation for jokes or smartass responses and it was bizarre to even fall into that odd routine again in the middle of all of this, but by tilting his head slightly and looking up Grif could just make out the watery smile forming on Simmons’ face and the teary look in his one remaining green eye.

He wasn’t sure why that exactly made it hard to breathe again.

Simmons chuckled weakly, adjusting his hold on Grif once more.

The arm wrapped around his chest pulled him in even tighter, but not so much in the crushing, restrictive way he’d been doing before.  No, it almost struck the Slums dweller as a very awkward sort of embrace in a way.  As if Simmons was attempting just a comforting one-armed hug from behind on someone who was upset.

His fingers splayed out on Grif’s side in a repetitive motion, as if he was trying to grip onto him there through the armor.

They remained standing quietly there in that position for the rest of the time that the lift made its slow ascent, Church and Sheila pointedly giving them as much solitude as was available by standing on the opposite side of the space and looking elsewhere.

For some reason Grif was left wondering if Simmons still had a heart in his chest if he would be able to hear and feel it beating just as forcefully as his own was doing at the moment.

*****

Felix was very close to regretting all recent decisions he’d made in his life right about now.

Bad enough that on his first day of fucking employment for the Resistance he somehow got on the wrong side of an attack.  He had adjusted to it pretty well though because he was a fucking professional and awesome at what he does, thank you very much.

Then who should happen to be working for the douches who were attacking the place he hoped would be a lucrative source of income for him?

_Locus_ , of all fucking people.

_Asshole_ was just the tip of the iceberg of insults that, in his opinion, were a little too nice of descriptions for the other mercenary.

So it looked like Felix was probably going to have to deal with a fucking psycho from his past that he really wasn’t sure he wanted to ever deal with again if he upheld this contract.

Far from ideal, really, but he could get through it if he tried and it was possible it could work in his favor from a renegotiation of his contract stance.  Which wouldn’t be so bad, in the long run.

Plus, if he was completely honest with himself, there was a very large portion of himself that was scared of Locus, yes—but there was also a part of him that was just really angry with him too.  Or disgusted, really.  Felix didn’t know if it was possible to take him out, but he’d be all for it if the situation presented itself.

Those things were complications, yes, but he could work through them.  He _had_ worked through similar ones in the past, even.

The tunnel he was in collapsing right before his eyes though?

Yeah, he totally could have lived without _that_ happening.

“Shit!”

He barely had time to swear as chunks of rock started peppering him and the ground.  He looked up to see a very ominous crack forming in the ceiling above his head.

Felix jumped back quickly, energy shield held up in front of his face.

He was fortunate, in a way.  The tunnel collapsed in front of him for quite a long distance, but stopped just a few meters from where he was standing.  Had he not moved quickly enough…  Oh, boy, would that have been a different story!

But when the dust settled, the sight before his eyes caused him to swear again.  The _entire_ corridor he’d been attempting to get through was now completely blocked.

Felix examined the ground underneath his feet carefully.  The mining tunnels were sturdy and built to last.  Theoretically, at least, they had been designed with the concept that should an above tunnel happen to cave in, the added weight on the ones below shouldn’t cause them to collapse either save in extreme circumstances.

Though, generally speaking, he’d describe _any_ tunnel collapsing as an extreme circumstance so what did he know?

He knew enough to know that those kinds of theories were hardly foolproof, however, and it would really suck if he just managed to avoid getting buried alive from up above only to get caught with his feet in the air because the floor under him had given way

Thankfully, as far as he could tell, it seemed to be in stable condition.

He glanced at the pile of rubble completely blocking his way now and sighed.

That was quite a lot of tunnel, it looked like.  He gazed upward again warily at the gaping hole overhead that dust was still filtering through.

Whatever had caused the collapse was probably really _huge_ , but he couldn’t make out what it was at all from down here.  It was hard to say, really.  He’d been hearing gunfire and explosions this whole time even with it being somewhat quiet in these lower areas.

Plus, given how much of the tunnel had caved in, it seemed very plausible that whatever had happened was on the other side of the collapse, which could have explained why he had been lucky enough to actually dodge it.

Briefly, he wondered if there had been other people who _hadn’t_ been so lucky.

Not that he really cared.  He didn’t, not really.  Or at least not to any level where he’d lose sleep over it if someone asked, but he couldn’t help but wince slightly at the thought.  Definitely not a pleasant way to go, all things considered.

But standing here dwelling on that wasn’t going to get him to the base proper anytime soon.  He’d have to backtrack _yet again_ and find another way through.  Felix sighed at the realization.

Maybe this new route would have flamethrowers he’d have to dodge lining the way.  Or maybe even an old-school trapdoor with spears lining the bottom.

…Because that would be _fucking awesome_.

*****

Tucker had woken up with massive headaches before that were usually the aftermaths of way too many fun nights ( _if you could catch his drift_ ), but this one was probably one of the worst.

Not to mention that his whole body hurt too, which was definitely not fun.

He hurt almost as much as when he had given birth to Junior ( _oh boy, had that fucking hurt!_ ), which was saying something.

“I am _never_ doing that again.”

A steel helmet with yellow trim was looking down at him dispassionately, “You shouldn’t have done it the first time.”

“Wow, that’s all I get for trying to save your ass?” he groaned, “Fucking unbelievable.”

They were laying on a massive pile of rubble, more than likely now on the level directly below where they had been before.  Well, he was laying down.  It looked like the Above Grounder had recovered quickly and was standing over him.

In a way, they were lucky.  The walls _and_ ceiling had collapsed so they could have been buried in the subsequent fall, but some larger sections of the wall had fallen against each other and created something of a pocket that had kept them away from a large portion of the debris.  Since they’d been on the beginning end of the collapse, they could actually just climb down to the tunnel they were technically in now and be on their way.

Which was probably a good thing, considering that it seemed like somehow his helmet had been torn off his head.  He’d seen Caboose and Junior playing with it a couple of days ago.  Tucker probably should have had one of the maintenance workers look it over after that.  He didn’t really want to think about what would have happened if he’d been buried without it.

“No, what’s unbelievable is that you risked your life doing that at all.” He couldn’t see the guy’s face, but he imagined Washington’s eyes were narrowed at him, “I wouldn’t have.”

“Wow, feel the love.”

Something wet and warm was dripping down the side of his face.  He didn’t even need to bring his hand up to it to know it was blood.  Again, though, even a rather deep cut was probably a more fortunate turn of events than the myriad nightmare list of even more serious injuries Tucker knew he possibly could have gotten instead.

“We’re fighting on opposite sides.  It’s to be expected.”

Tucker glared at the soldier through the still unsettled dust, forcing his protesting body to sit up and trying to fight the urge to cough and vomit.

Washington was still standing there staring at him, though he noticed through his wincing that the Above Grounder’s hands were clenching and unclenching constantly at his sides.

_Probably just wants to pull put another of his guns._

“You’re so fucking full of it.” He told him, remembering what had happened earlier, “Why’d you save Caboose then?”

The Freelancer actually visibly _flinched_ , which caused Tucker to raise an eyebrow.  Was he embarrassed at having gotten caught having done that?

He finally came up with, “Caboose…wasn’t a threat at the time.  Besides, saving him was possibly the only way to keep the assault droid from going on a rampage.”

“Uh-huh, sure.  Keep telling yourself that.” Tucker said smugly, “And North?”

“A former teammate.” His voice had a sharp edge to it at the mention of the ex-Freelancer, “I don’t necessarily want to kill him, but I _will_ if I have to.  I’d do the same with any of you, so I’ll say it again: what you did was stupid and pointless.”

“You consider us your enemies but that whack job guy in the white armor who shot at _all of us_ is a teammate?  Your department must have some serious issues.”

Washington’s voice had all of the softness of steel when he responded: “He isn’t my teammate.  Clearly, no one is anymore.”

Okay, this was going from lecture territory to way-too-heavy-shit-he-didn’t-want-to-touch-with-a-ten-meter-pole.  Best to move on and be done with it, Tucker figured.

“Look, you can think whatever the fuck you want.  It’s not like I have a stellar high opinion of you anyways, so as far as how you see what I did: _I really don’t care_.” He sighed, “But, whatever your reason for it, you _did_ help a friend of mine out and without you and North, we’d have been screwed when that jackass Wyoming showed up.  I was just returning the favor.”

 “Returning the favor?” The Freelancer repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” He squinted up at the rubble blocking his view of how far they’d fallen, “Though with your attitude and how crappy I’m feeling, I’m probably going to regret it.”

There was silence then, with Washington staring at him through his helmet.

Tucker tried ignoring the feeling that the soldier was perhaps debating on whether or not to kill him outright, instead finding his sword poking out of a nearby pile of rocks and reaching for it.

Washington’s hand was gripping onto his outstretched wrist so tightly he could feel it even through the armor.

“I’ll hold onto that for right now.” He said in a voice that left no room for argument, grabbing the alien relic with his free hand.

“What?  Why?” Tucker’s annoyance wasn’t going to just go away though because of some guy’s scary voice, “It’s fucking _mine_.  It won’t even work for you!”

“I noticed that.” Washington appraised him slightly and then the object resting uselessly in his hand, “Alien tech that someone imprinted on you.  Interesting.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a real scientific curiosity.” He glared right back, trying to yank his arm out of Washington’s vice-like grip, “But it’s _mine_.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain that the slightly older man was regarding him with mild amusement behind his visor.  Which kind of pissed Tucker off even more.

“And you’ll get it back.  I’m just going to be holding onto it for the time being.”

“Why?” he was beyond frustrated now.

Washington stared at him for a few seconds before stating blankly as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world: “Because holding onto it is the only guarantee I can rely on that you won’t try stabbing me in the back with it later.”

Tucker stared at him then, open-mouthed and disbelieving.  He wasn’t even sure how to respond to that.

He’d nearly died trying to help the Freelancer out and he was still so damned paranoid that he thought Tucker would try killing him afterwards?

The guy was being completely serious too, which was— _wow_.  He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what had happened to Washington to cause him to view things that way.

He didn’t take offense to Tucker’s lack of response, instead standing up and dragging the teal-armored fighter with him.

“Let’s go.” He said quickly, already beginning to carefully make his way down the rubble pile with the dark-skinned younger man in tow.

“Go where?”

The whole situation was getting way too bizarre for Tucker’s taste.

The Freelancer didn’t even spare him a glance, eyes fixed straight ahead on the passageway before them, “We’re getting out of here.  You need to be checked out by a medic to make sure that cut is your only head injury.”

Tucker blinked, surprised.

Given Washington’s comment earlier about how stupid he’d been and how he was more than willing to kill any of them if he had to, he was honestly shocked that he’d even have any remote interest where Tucker was concerned.

“Why do you even care?” he couldn’t help but ask, mostly just out of curiosity.

Washington glanced back, though the brisk pace he was walking with never changed.

“You tried helping me.” He finally replied, voice sounding just as stiff as his posture was, “I’m just returning the favor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Okie-dokie, so I may have been a bit too hopeful in assuming I could fit all of this “story arc” in two chapters. XD So, following this one, there will be another chapter that will conclude this part and help set the stage for what’s to come next!
> 
> As always, thank you and happy reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Nine:

Four Seven Niner looked at C.T. askance.

“You know what I hate?” she asked almost conversationally as the Freelancer regarded her questioningly.

When the fighting had started, Four Seven Niner had been ordered to hold back unless otherwise noted for potential emergency pick-ups later. So after receiving the altered plans on what was happening from Tex, Connecticut made her way back to the transport’s location.  Since most of the battle was located farther away, she’d joined the Freelancer outside of the transport for the moment while C.T. “repaired” damage to her leg armor from a supposed skirmish.  Shooting herself just below the knee had _not_ been pleasant, but she had needed a valid reason to fall back for repairs. Her status as one of the lower-tier Freelancers due to her earlier mission failures meant the lie had more clout in an ironic sort of way.

“Waiting?” she finally supplied when the pilot hadn’t elaborated further.

…She was certainly hating how often she was doing that now herself.

“Well, that definitely sucks too.” Four Seven Niner tapped the ground with her foot in an impatient gesture, “Though I was more referring to being stuck here.  Underground.”

Ah, that made sense.  A pilot trapped in a literal anti-thesis of her chosen field.

C.T. glanced around the space.  This area was one of the larger places underground, with rock and metal plating adding a nice visual harmony. Auxiliary power casted odd, dimly-lit multicolored shadows everywhere.

“I don’t know.  I suppose it could be nice if we weren’t in the middle of a battle.”

Honestly?  While she’d never call the underground of the Slums “beautiful” she’d learned to appreciate certain aspects of them a great deal.

It was probably more to do with having someone who had been patient with her misgivings on the place and willing to show her the sights.  Being with a person you eventually started to care for deeply could make you start to see the beauty anywhere, she supposed.  Not that she’d probably _ever_ admit that to anyone, mainly on account of _who_ that person had been. Also because she didn’t want to be accused of being as corny when it came to love and romance as everyone used to tease York for being when it came to his more than obvious views of Carolina.

They hadn’t been able to have a lot of moments like that, but she’d learned to appreciate how much time she’d been able to have with him still just as C.T. had learned to develop a certain fondness for the bleak aesthetics of underground.

“Huh.” Four Seven Niner shook her head in disbelief, “Remind me to take you flying again one of these days when we get back.  I think you need a refresher on what’s actually _nice_.”

“The view from the top of the Mother of Invention is quite nice too, of course.” She said consolingly, trying to make amends.

“Pales in comparison to the view flying _above_ it though.” The pilot shook her head again, glancing around them and back at the transport distastefully, “You guys owe me big for this one.”

“Don’t we always?” she joked, finally “fixing” the malfunction in her leg armor and clamping it back down on herself before standing up.

“You mind telling everyone else that?” the other woman was heading back to the boxy vehicle she loathed, “Because I could really use a pay raise.”

It wasn’t even two minutes after that that four figures ran into view dressed in familiar armor she’d seen quite a few times over the years.

C.T. was relieved to see that Simmons and his teammates were all right by all appearances, unsure of what to make of the orange-armored man with them.

Right, Tex had said there’d been complications that she would need to be ready for.  She would have _loved_ to have known that she’d meant a hostage ahead of time though!

“Simmons!”  She ran over to them when they were closer the vehicle.

Four Seven Niner had turned around at the commotion and was trotting over as well, “What the hell happened?”

“We escaped, that’s what.” The man in the cobalt armor, Leonard Church (C.T. cringed inwardly at the name choice: yet another indication that the Director was sick in how he approached things), said dismissively, “No thanks to this so-called “rescue mission” that made everything about fifty fucking times worse.”

The pilot shrugged, nonplussed by the attitude, “Not really our call, tough guy, but I do drive the hulking piece of metal that can get you home if you’re nice to me.”

This was promptly followed by him mumbling sarcastically, “You’re my new best friend.”

“A charmer.  Thrilled.”

C.T. looked them over, trying to discern any injuries, “Are you all right?”

“Beyond our nerves being shot to hell because we could have gotten killed due to angry Resistance fighters or trigger-happy allies?  Yeah, we’re fucking _great_.”

Connecticut turned to Simmons with a questioning look, choosing not to respond to Church’s sarcastic rant as he was clearly just venting his frustrations.

Simmons nodded his head to indicate that, yes, they were all fine more or less.  But she noticed that the still flesh part of his face was unnaturally pale even for him and he glanced down nervously at the chubby tan man he still had in a hold.  It looked like the man was struggling to catch his breath.

When Simmons didn’t supply any further information, the robot, Sheila, stepped in, “There were…unfortunate complications.” She tilted her head regrettably at Simmons then.

“That’s one way to put introducing someone who has a gun to their head.” Four Seven Niner muttered.

“Well, we had to do something!” Church stated defensively, bristling, “It’s not like they were going to just _let_ us walk out of there.”

Definitely couldn’t have afforded to do that, she knew.  Especially with appearance so at stake on all fronts.

Simmons looked at her then, imploringly, “We can…just let him go now, right?” he asked, an odd mixed note of both hopefulness and panic in his voice, “He’s not armed so he’s not a threat.”

“Yeah, I’d kind of feel bad about killing him off after all of this.” Church spoke up afterwards, pointedly not looking at the Resistance fighter.

“He was most cooperative.” The robot stated helpfully.

C.T. glanced at Four Seven Niner to gauge her reaction.  She had to tread carefully where others were concerned.

The pilot looked back and shrugged, “You guys are the fighters, so it’s ultimately up to you.  Though I probably wouldn’t be too keen on killing someone who wasn’t armed or threatening me either.”

C.T. nodded: “Agreed.”

She imagined some of her fellow Freelancers or other soldiers might object to that.  The Council’s stance on Resistance members were pretty harsh and some agreed with it while others didn’t. But since it seemed unanimously like everyone here didn’t want to see the Resistance fighter’s brains spilled everywhere, they were in the clear and she could probably berate Tex later for not completely filling her in on the situation without any added guilt on her end.

Hell, she probably wouldn’t even have to justify her reasoning for doing so later if someone told the others.

Even Carolina, harsh as she could be when it came to the war, would hesitate with killing an unarmed person when there wasn’t a justifiable tactical reason for doing so.  C.T. could actually still remember the red-haired Freelancer getting livid at the news of the Council’s “retaliation” on the civilian population of the Slums for the Insurrection’s attack a few years ago.

The three soldiers seemed relieved at the verdict, as did their hostage who managed to get out a heavy sigh despite still breathing hard.  C.T. looked at him more closely and was, truth be told, surprised to see that he did not seem to be in the best of shape for someone supposedly fighting in a war.

Simmons in particular seemed ecstatic.  He looked almost close to crying.

Odd reaction, that, for a total stranger in particular.  Maybe he knew the person?  She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“For a vaunted Freelancer, you do seem to make some very questionable calls.” A gravelly, somewhat filtered-sounding voice she’d only heard a few times before this mission said from the very same corridor the three missing soldiers had just run through.

The group started and there was an odd shimmer in the air far closer than C.T. would have liked in front of them before a figure in steel and green armor materialized there: “Then again, I suppose that’s why you’ve always been ranked lower when compared to your peers, Agent Connecticut.”

The brunette narrowed her eyes at the mercenary.

“Locus.” She said evenly, trying to get the dread filling in the pit of her stomach at his sudden appearance under control, “There was no order to pull back yet.”

He titled his head to the side, seemingly amused by her comment, “I’m not employed by your Director and I am under no obligation to follow Agent Carolina’s orders either.” He said slowly, as if trying to explain something to a particularly stubborn child, “My business here is done.”

“What business was that?” she swallowed nervously.

As far as she could tell, all Locus had done on the mission was slaughter enemy combatants.  Was he only supposed to kill a quota of them then or had that just been a cover for something else entirely?  It was hard to say with the Council.

He shrugged and C.T. really wished he’d just go on his fucking way then if his “business” was supposedly so taken care of, “Not my place to say.  If you want that information, ask my employer.”

He stepped right up in front of her then, towering, and she did her best to look at him dead on in the visor and not let him intimidate her.  From what she knew about him, the mercenary seemed to enjoy mind-games almost as much as killing.

“Of course, you’d have to find out who that is first.” He told her, “But I have a very strong suspicion that the one thing you’re adept at is information gathering, Agent Connecticut.”

Shit, that was definitely a not-so-subtle threat that he suspected something.  They had only met a few weeks ago though.  How was that possible?

She took a deep breath and kept up a calm façade.  Hopefully he was just bluffing.

“So shouldn’t you be on your way then, if you’re done here?” she asked, voice only slightly faltering, “Or are you planning on hitching a ride?”

For once, Four Seven Niner didn’t have a snappy comeback and C.T. was glad for it.  Locus had a reputation for unpredictability.  Perhaps the pilot intuitively knew it wasn’t the right time given the charged atmosphere. Or perhaps she was inwardly hoping the psychotic mercenary would just reject the ride notion entirely.

Locus actually _chuckled_ at her attempt to stand up to him. C.T. had to bite down on the urge to say something nasty back.  He probably was hoping to get a reaction from her, after all.

When she didn’t respond like he’d probably hoped, the mercenary cast a disinterested look over at the other soldiers.

“Agent Florida’s group made it out safely, I see.” He said and how the hell he’d even known who had been their commanding officer before ( _let alone his Freelancer codename_ ) was beyond her, “That is fortunate.”

He stared at the Resistance fighter squirming in Simmons’ grip, his voice that same creepy monotone the whole exchange, “Though taking a hostage was unfortunate.”

Simmons’ grip on the man visibly tightened, the hand holding the gun near his head going lax.  With the sudden panic and horrified realization crystallizing on the redhead’s face, C.T. prayed he didn’t attempt to aim the gun at the mercenary.

“Why is that?” she tried diffusing the situation, “We already made a decision on what to do with the hostage.”

Locus turned to face her again, “Oh, I know.  It was a bad decision though.”

“And yet, as you said, you have no say in Freelancer decisions.” She was trying to fight the urge to grab her weapon from her holster, “And that _did_ fall into Freelancer jurisdiction.”

His body language through his armor once again almost seemed amused, “You misinterpreted what I said completely, _C.T._.” His take on her preferred name definitely had mocking undercurrent, “Freelancers have no jurisdiction over me.  I am completely within my contractual obligations to override the decisions of most Freelancer agents on the battlefield if I see fit.”

He turned then, his gun aimed directly at the orange-armored soldier’s exposed head, “And I consider any Resistance fighter a liability.”

Simmons’ gun was pointed at the hired soldier almost simultaneously, but before he could react to the threat Church was actually standing directly in front of the mercenary’s weapon with his own pointed as well.

“What the fuck is your problem, asshole?” he shouted, “We’d already agreed to let him go.”

“Your opinions on the subject matter even less than Agent Connecticut’s.” Locus said plainly, his finger squeezing slightly on the trigger for added emphasis.

“You can’t!” Simmons’ voice, though high-pitched slightly, was more emphatic than C.T. had ever heard it before.

Sheila was moving to step in-between Simmons, the fighter, and Locus as well at this point.

C.T. could hear Four Seven Niner muttering “Holy fuck.” in response to what was happening: a sentiment she also shared.

Locus seemed just amused by what was transpiring, “I’d advise you to rethink this.  Your friend has already served his purpose.” He indicated the Resistance fighter who’d remained silent throughout this whole thing, face paling, before looking at all three Above Grounders again, “It would be a shame if all three of you were executed as traitors after dragging him this whole way for nothing, wouldn’t it?”

“Shove it, you fucking—“

While Church was in mid-rant, C.T. was reaching for her sidearm.  Maybe she could get a clean shot from behind while Locus was distracted.  She doubted anyone present would object horribly.

The mercenary cast a sidelong glance at her before her gloves had even touched the gun and her blood ran cold.

“Go right ahead, _C.T._.  Prove exactly what you are.”

Her eyes widened.  Was he doing this whole thing on purpose just to _provoke_ her into revealing herself?

_Goddamned asshole!_

“What the hell is going on here?”

C.T. had _never_ been more thankful to hear any angry outburst from Carolina before in her life.

The leader of the Freelancers was making her way towards them at a steady pace, her Plasma Rifles pointed squarely at the mercenary in the midst of the conflict.

Most people would have been shitting themselves to have Agent Carolina aiming guns squarely at their heads, as she was as deadly proficient with them as she was with martial arts and hand-to-hand combat.  …Especially when Carolina’s body language showcased the kind of murderous rage it was displaying right now.

The fact that Locus seemed oddly calm in the face of even an angry Carolina was beyond disconcerting.

“Nothing at all.” He stated, gun still pointing at the Resistance fighter and the soldiers actively blocking him, “Agent Connecticut and I were just having a bit of a disagreement over how to handle a prisoner situation.  Things got a little heated.”

“That’s putting it fucking mildly.”

C.T. had to admit that Leonard Church had some pretty huge balls to be able to say something like that with a gun pointed directly at him.

“Church.” It was hard to tell what kind of emotion was going through Carolina when she said his name, “Good to see you three are all right.”

He scoffed, “Ten seconds later and we wouldn’t have been.”

Locus tilted his head to the side slightly, “You really think it would have taken me that long?”

“ _Enough._ ” The woman in the cyan armor cast a glance at C.T., “What’s the situation exactly?”

“These three apparently managed to escape by taking the Resistance fighter hostage.  Locus wasn’t too keen on just letting him go.”

“Easy enough to incapacitate a restrained and unarmed prisoner without killing them, Locus.” Carolina’s tone was clipped and even.

“Better just to make it permanent.”

“Even if I remotely agreed in the first place there’s still the very big fucking issue of you threatening to kill my subordinates.” Her voice was getting progressively angrier as she spoke. She was mere meters away from Locus now.

The atmosphere was thick and heavy then, a tense silence passing between the Freelancer and mercenary as they sized each other up.

Locus’ weapon was still pointed at Church and the others, but Carolina’s were aimed directly at his skull.  It was more than apparent that she wouldn’t think twice about shooting him if he tried anything.

“Four Seven Niner, get the transport ready.” She said, never taking her fixed gaze from Locus, “We’re getting ready to pull out.”

“Right.” The pilot seemed relieved to have a valid excuse to leave the standoff, only casting a few glances over her shoulder as she headed back to the transport, “I’ll be ready in case you need me to crash into something.  Or someone.”

“It’s appreciated.”

“And the prisoner?” Locus seemed not at all fazed by recent events.

Carolina barely spared the tan man in question a glance, “ _Not.  Your.  Call._ ” She emphasized each word by taking a step closer to him.

He scoffed, though whatever he would have said or done next was made completely irrelevant when a wall close by exploded.

“What the hell--?”

Church stopped his exclamation when an Above Ground soldier’s body flew through the gaping, smoking hole—followed by a figure in black armor calmly stepping through the space.

“Oh, shit.” was what he decided to go with instead.

Locus finally lowered his gun then, “Well, this is an interesting turn of events.”

Carolina swiveled around and one could hear the snarl emitted from her helmet when she realized who it was from probably just about anywhere in the adjacent area, “ _YOU!_ ”

“Me.” Tex gave a slight nod of her head in the Freelancer’s direction, “Sorry to butt in, Carolina, but I’m here to get the fat idiot back.”

*****

Of all the ways for this day to end, helping an opponent through enemy lines was not one of the ones Washington had figured on.

He wasn’t even quite sure _why_ he was doing it in the first place, truly.  What happened to this Tucker person wasn’t any major concern to him, after all.  If he’d been foolish enough to risk his own neck for someone like him, well, that wasn’t on Washington.

Still, he _did_ know that he hadn’t been as ready for the collapse as he should have been.  So if Tucker hadn’t been a complete idiot and decided to help him, he could be way worse off.  The part of him in particular that still hesitated at the thought of confronting North and York, that disliked the idea of killing Caboose, and that still wasn’t sure what to do about the C.T. situation... That tiny part of him kept saying he owed the Resistance fighter at least a little bit.

What had Tucker said earlier?  That he’d been “returning the favor” for him helping Caboose?

No reason why he shouldn’t do the same, he reasoned.

“Do you fucking mind?” the teal armored fighter was trying to yank back his arm, the repeated jostling finally breaking through Washington’s thoughts.

He stopped and turned around.  “What?” he asked in annoyance.

Tucker looked at him as if he had two heads.  The cut on his forehead was still bleeding, causing Washington to frown.  It would have been a lot better if they’d had some kind of medical supplies on hand.

“Seriously?” he raised his arm up, the Freelancer’s moving with it, “I’m not _fucking_ twelve and I’m not that injured!”

Washington blinked.  He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto Tucker’s wrist for as long as he had. Or when that hold had somehow turned to him gripping his hand and pulling him along with a claw-like grip around his fingers.

“Besides, I’ve lived in the Slums my whole life.  I probably know my way around here a lot better than you do.”

He wondered what that would be like. Living down here.  All he’d known as David, as Washington even, had pretty much been Above Ground.

_Epsilon had memories of Above Ground too.  And tight, cramped, dark, lonely places.  Solitude or bodiless voices telling him how everyone he knew had died.  Not like the tunnels though, not like the city beneath the earth.  A prison, cold and empty as space.  He hated the night, falling asleep alone._

Maybe that was why he hadn’t noticed his grip on Tucker’s hand.  Having physical contact with someone, even while lost in his own thoughts, had helped to lessen some of the panic that usually happened if he dwelled too long on memories of places he may or may not have actually been.  It didn’t matter now: they were a part of him all the same.

He’d remembered actually almost being afraid when he’d recovered from the fall and had thought for a moment that the Resistance fighter might have been dead since his helmet had fallen off.  Even being around a relative stranger was better than being completely isolated in the dark, after all. _hated being alone. Hated goodbyes. Hated that they were the only things that seemed truly constant in this world_.

Arguing and lecturing with him the second Tucker had woken up had helped put his mind at ease, oddly enough.

Washingon’s silence seemed to infuriate the other man, “Are you that fucking paranoid that you honestly think if you weren’t keeping hold of my hand I’d attack you or something?”

Short answer _yes_ : don’t trust anyone, don’t give them the chance to betray you.  Long answer _no_ : but really didn’t want to go into that with anyone, ever.

“I mean, if you were a hot chick or if you bought dinner first that would be different, bow-chicka-bow-wow!”

Tucker had a way of saying exactly what was necessary to unintentionally diffuse awkward situations, he had to give him that.

Washington sighed and shook his head, immediately dropping his hold of Tucker’s hand.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re a jackass.” Tucker looked at him pointedly, brown eyes narrowed, “Jackass.”

“That repetition there really proved your point.”

For a moment, it almost looked like Tucker might say something in retaliation.  There was a spark in his eyes that seemed to be annoyance, but then realization crossed over his face instead and he stared at Washington in open shock.

“What?” he glared at the Resistance fighter suspiciously.

Tucker simply shook his head and grinned, “Nothing.  I just had to make sure I actually heard that right.”

“Heard what?” he was curious now, against his better judgment.

“You joked just then, mockingly.” Tucker explained, as if it should have been obvious what he was talking about, “It’s a miracle.”

Though Washington wasn’t quite as amused: “And my initial point still stands.”

Tucker rolled his eyes, “Whatever, dude.  Are we going to get moving again or what?”

“You’re the one who stopped.” The Freelancer pointed out.

“Only because you wanting to hold hands after a little while kind of got weird.” He muttered as they started making their way through the passageway again.

“I did not want to hold hands.”  Eye rolling seemed like it was going to be commonplace for Wash in this exchange.

He scoffed, “Please, you were gripping on as tightly as Junior does.”

Washington paused again to look at the Resistance fighter questioningly, “Junior?”

A shrug, “He’s my son.”

“Oh.” Washington looked over at the younger man in surprise, giving him a reassessing look.

He wouldn’t have expected Tucker to have a child.  For some reason, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to think of the people they were fighting against having family.  Or friends.  Or lives in general.

Made it a bit harder to fight them, in a way.

“He’d been here earlier actually.” Tucker said quietly, more to himself than to Washington.  He seemed like the type of person who sometimes talks just to fill silence: “I’m fucking glad I brought him home when I did.”

“That’s…fortunate.” Washington was definitely not good at these sorts of conversations.  What could he say, really?  Technically speaking, he’d actually been attacking this place not too long ago.  That made discussions of a more personal nature rather awkward, to say the least.

“And then some.”

They fell into silence after that, Washington glancing down at the sword held uselessly in his other hand.  He was tempted to ask how Tucker had gotten a hold of it, considering how hard alien tech was to come by, much less alien tech that required imprinting to access it, when a figure emerged from a room up ahead.

They were wearing orchid-colored armor.

_Shit.  South!_

He turned to Tucker then, putting a gloved hand firmly over his mouth to keep him silent and pushing both of them into a side passage.  Fortunately, there was a large piece of leftover sheet metal there that provided enough cover for the two of them.

There was a murderous look in Tucker’s eyes and he thought it best to talk before removing his hand to avoid a shouting match or potential scuffle.

“Change of plans.” He said quickly in a low voice, “There’s another Freelancer headed this way.”

He waited a few moments to see if the Resistance fighter figured out what he’d said.  He only lowered his hand when he saw realization beginning to dawn on Tucker’s features replacing his earlier surprised anger.

“Do you think they’ll try killing you like that Wyoming asshole did?” he was whispering instinctively too.  _Good._

Washington frowned, “Hard to say, really.  Though she’ll have no qualms with killing you.”

“You guys are awesome.  Really.” The comment was dripping with bitter sarcasm.

Washington didn’t even bother arguing.  He couldn’t really, not after what he knew now.  Not after what the project had become.

“So, what do we do?”

It felt odd, to actually have someone include him as part of a “we” again.  Washington hadn’t really heard that in a long while, especially not since he’d come back to active duty.  It was a strange sensation, even though he knew the term was used in an innocent, general sense in this situation and also by someone who didn’t really know him all that well.

“ _We_ aren’t going to do anything.” He said finally, after weighing his options, “I’m going to make sure she stays away from this area.”

“But…!”

He wasn’t sure why Tucker’s protest actually made him slightly hesitant, but he managed to push past it.

“I’m returning the favor, remember?”

Before Tucker could ask in confusion what the fuck he meant by that, Washington brought his gauntleted fist down on his left temple purposefully avoiding the right side of Tucker’s head where his injury was.

The force of the blow had the desired effect and Tucker crumpled like a bag of bricks.

Washington knelt over him for a moment, just to make sure that he’d only knocked the younger man out and had done nothing more serious.  He ignored the slight stab of guilt that hit him as he gently pressed a finger to the spot he’d hit.

It was definitely already starting to bruise and when Tucker woke up he was going to be _pissed_.

No avoiding that, really.

But it wasn’t like Washington would see the fallout anyway and at least the Resistance fighter would be alive to be angry with him in the first place.

Still, he mumbled a slight “Sorry.” before resting the sword next to Tucker’s limp hand.  He had promised earlier to give it back and, besides, it was useless to him anyways.  Like Hell was he all that eager to hand alien tech over to the Director now.

Washington got up and made sure Tucker’s prone form wasn’t visible from the corridor, then moved into the large tunnel area once again.

“South!” he called out, noticing that she seemed to be looking for something.

She stared at him for a moment before walking over, “Washington, what are you doing down here?”

There was a suspicious note to her voice.  She’d been like that a lot around him, ever since the operation.

He kept his voice neutral, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Washington was positive that she was glaring at him through her visor, “I was on clean-up duty, but there was a tunnel collapse somewhere close by.  Figured I’d investigate.”

“Same here.”

He assumed it wasn’t the best time to probably tell her about what happened with Wyoming or that he’d actually been _in_ the tunnel collapse.  Then again, wasn’t really sure when would be a good time to mention all of that. Particularly depending on what Wyoming would do or say in regards to the encounter.

He made a mental note to not mention that he’d run into North at all.  Truthfully, he still didn’t know _what_ South would do if she saw her brother again given what had happened before. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Besides, right now, it was more important to figure out a way to get her out of this level of the mines.  His thoughts flashed to Tucker again.  He’d prefer her _not_ finding out about him either.

Surprisingly fortunate though, South gave him the out he’d been trying to brainstorm all on her own, “Since I found you, we should get moving.  We got the fall back order a little while ago.”

“So the mission was a success?” he thought of Simmons and the others, and was inwardly slightly relieved.

“I’m not sure.  I guess it was.” She seemed largely disinterested in the mission’s outcome.  Made sense, he supposed, as the soldiers involved had been pretty low level and she’d never bothered interacting with any of them beforehand.

“Only one way to find out, I guess.”

She grunted and turned to head back the way she came through the corridors.  Since North’s defection she seemed bizarrely at ease with the fact that most of her comrades now preferred that she walk in front of them.

Washington followed, eager to leave the darkness of the tunnels that seemed suddenly a lot more confining to him than they had just a little while ago.

*****

They were probably fucked.  That was all Simmons could think at this point.

“We don’t have to fight, Carolina.” Tex’s voice was quiet, an odd note of hesitation in it given her usual demeanor.

The other red-haired woman laughed once, sharply, “Like hell we don’t.”

Tex sighed, but she was already moving into an attack stance regardless.  More than likely she’d known well beforehand that there was no avoiding the outcome: “I told you before that we really aren’t enemies.”

“Your actions at the time kind of negated that.” There was a quiet fury in Carolina’s voice, brimming just below the surface.

With that remark, Carolina flew at the former Freelancer.  Her shape a cyan blur as speed augmentation was one of her armor’s enhancements.  The two met with blows that would have probably incapacitated anyone else besides them, Carolina opting for fists and Tex apparently choosing to do the same.

“Stubborn as always, aren’t you?” the black-armored fighter called out as she blocked with her forearm a punch meant to hit her head.

“You’re one to talk!” Carolina ducked down and swept under Tex’s feet with her leg, attempting to throw the other combatant off balance.

It worked in a way, though Tex recovered more quickly than anticipated, reaching out to grab Carolina’s arm and subsequently dragging her down with her though Carolina somehow managed to roll through the fall and was pressing on with her assault seconds later.

“I thought you were dead, after what happened.” There was that odd hesitation in Tex’s voice again.  How the fuck she was able to breathe normally with all of that physical activity was beyond Simmons.

“It took awhile to recover.  Not that I was missed.” There was a bitter note to Carolina’s voice, “The Director’s always been more concerned with his agenda.”

“Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind to ask why?”

A vicious jab to the throat followed.  Carolina was pressing hard.  She probably knew from past experiences that letting up on Tex even remotely was not a smart thing to do.

“Even if it has, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.”

Tex grabbed a fist that came dangerously close to her visor in a vice-like grip, pulling the Freelancer closer with the motion.

“Carolina, _listen to me_.” She practically hissed through her helmet, “This whole thing is—“

Locus’ gun firing drowned out whatever she was about to tell her. The two women pulled apart at the last second to dodge the bullet that pierced the space their heads had been occupying moments before.

“I hope you don’t mind if I cut in.” The mercenary’s tone was cold and brisk, “I’ve been curious to see the fabled Agent Tex’s combat skills in person.”

“Locus.” Carolina’s rage was now practically radiating off of her in waves.

"I hear she’s almost as skilled as you are, Agent Carolina.” He was probably smirking through his helmet, “ _Better_ , even.”

He definitely knew how to get under someone’s skin.  Carolina seemed ready to murder him.

“You could have killed us both, asshole!”

It was Tex who yelled that, surprisingly angry at the prospect of someone who seemed to vehemently hate her getting killed too.  Simmons glanced briefly over at Church, noticing a confused look forming on his face then as well.

“Oh, that?  It was just an attention-grabber, really.  I had faith you’d both dodge.” He sounded slightly amused again, “Otherwise, this wouldn’t be worth my time.”

“Mother fucker…!” Tex swore.

C.T. had her gun aimed at Locus’ head then, the mercenary turning to regard her in an almost bored fashion.

Simmons’ mind went blank, suddenly realizing that the hired soldier would have no issue with shooting his friend before she even had time to pull the trigger.

“C.T.!”

Carolina seemed to know this as well, casting a glance at her subordinate while trying to focus most of her attention on the two opponents before her.

“I’ll deal with Locus.  Get the others onto the transport and have the pull out order issued.”

C.T. hesitated and Locus twitched dangerously, “But—“

“ _Go!_ ”

It was actually sort of surprising that the thunderous quality of Carolina’s voice just then didn’t cause the corridor to shake in and of itself.

C.T. gulped and nodded, lowering her gun at the exact same time that Locus was turning around with his.

Tex took that opportunity to grab a piece of rubble that, realistically speaking given its size and probable weight, she should not have been able to pick up at all and threw it in his direction with _one hand_.

He dodged it, but only barely. He wasn’t as fortunate when it came to the kick Carolina slammed into his chest seconds later while he was distracted.

_Shit, shit, shit…_   Things were definitely getting out of hand.

Simmons could feel the fear he’d only just managed to push down again after that last exchange fighting to break through to the surface once more.

“Let’s go.” C.T.’s voice was deceptively calm as she ran up to them in the midst of the conflict, “You heard her.”

Church was staring on at the fight as if in a trance, his expression unreadable.  Sheila touched his arm. He flinched at the slight, unexpected contact and turned to glance at them.

Reluctantly, Simmons removed his arm from around Grif.  He should have probably done that awhile ago, but his brain had kind of refused to work properly in light of what had happened with Locus.  He still didn’t technically want to do so now, either.  The gun in his hand was pretty much forgotten as it would probably be next to useless if he’d even attempted to use it to help out Carolina or Tex.

His friend, maybe unfortunately a stretch to consider Grif that now given what had happened, took in several deep, gasping breaths.  Simmons fidgeted nervously, woefully apologetic but unable to think of any words or actions that could even remotely make things right.  Grif turned to glare at him and a part of him almost wished that he’d punch him, or _anything_ really, if it meant the Slums resident had a chance to vent.

“I gave you an order!” Carolina shouted over at them.

“What the hell are you idiots thinking?” Tex called out as well, her gaze through her helmet focused squarely on the one person who was still riveted on her and Carolina’s fight, “Get moving, asshole!”

The look of worry on Leonard Church’s face intermixed with anger then when he realized she was talking to him, “Jesus, I’m going!” then under his breath he muttered, “Bitch.”

He turned then, mumbling something about how he wasn’t sure why he even worried about her anymore. Then he stated to his team, “Let’s let the crazies duke it out and go.”

“But…” Simmons hesitated, glancing at Grif nervously.  The idea of leaving him here with the fighting going on was not a welcoming one.

“Get going, nerd.” Grif’s voice was raw. He still looked understandably ticked off, but he was motioning to the transport, “ _This_ is what all of this shit was for, wasn’t it?”

Simmons frowned, wanting to respond but still having a hard time looking the Resistance fighter in the eyes, “I’m—“

A bullet hit the floor directly at their feet.  Locus had been aiming at Carolina, but a kick from Tex had thrown his aim off and Simmons panicked again.

He did not want to see Grif get killed on account of what he’d done.  That wasn’t fair.  If he could get him to the transport for safety, then maybe…

“Private Simmons.” C.T.’s voice was firm, authoritative.

He blinked, his hand outstretched still as if to grab onto Grif’s arm again.

“Above Ground’s policy on Resistance members is harsh.  Death on sight if they’re brought to Above Ground.” She reminded him. Her tone softened with a rather sympathetic note, “Your friend has to stay here.”

He knew that, really, but he still felt himself getting ready to voice protest.  Here there was a definitely possibility that Grif would be killed too.  He didn’t want that happening either.

“Get going, Simmons.” Grif repeated his earlier statement, voice a lot sharper and clearer this time, “I’ll be fine.  They’re too busy trying to kill each other and I’m great at hiding.  Remember?”

“You said you were great at napping.” He responded lamely.

It seemed very dumb to be having this conversation in the middle of a fight, after all that had happened.

A shrug: “Yeah, but I usually have to hide in order to nap, so the two go hand-in-hand.”

“That is—“

“If you guys don’t leave right now I am going to be way more pissed than I already am with having been made a fucking hostage. So you’d better move your scrawny ass.” There was a finality in Grif’s tone that he had never remembered having heard from the other man before.

Whatever argument Simmons was going to try making died away, though he still didn’t want to leave and it felt like his feet were rooted to the spot.  He’d lost so much in Above Ground.  He didn’t want to have to say goodbye to Grif so soon down here either even if things had gotten royally fucked.

Sheila gently pulled him along though and he followed with dragging steps behind her. Church and C.T. close behind.

Though it took all of his willpower to _not_ give in to the urge to turn around and pull Grif along with them.

*****

By the time they had followed Tex’s path of destruction to where she and Grif were, York was pretty certain of two things.

One: Red Team was insane and yet they _could_ actually get things done despite their quirks. Which was kind of impressive, in a way.

Two: they were going to be in for a fight. If the frantic rounds of gunfire and the loud crashing, booming noises they’d been hearing for a good long while up ahead were any indication.

The second thing was pretty much confirmed when they stepped through a very large hole in the wall and came across Tex fighting two other people.  One was a guy in green and steel-colored armor York didn’t really recognize and the other figure in cyan…

His heart slammed into his throat.  He would have recognized that armor anywhere, as well as the combat moves he’d seen countless times both in the training room and out on the field.

_Carolina!_

Both she and Tex had their hands full, it seemed.  They were fighting each other whenever they had the opportunity to do so, but also attacking the unknown person together at the same time.  It was sort of amazing how they could double-team like that while _still_ actively trying to take one another out.  If they ever were able to simply fight together truly, it would probably be all sorts of frightening.

The unknown fighter, while seemingly at a slight disadvantage with attacks coming from both sides, was still holding his own.  The fact that the fight wasn’t nearly as one-sided as it should have probably been spoke volumes of the fighter in green and steel-colored armor’s skill.

It also meant he was formidable enough to be able to make the most out of the fact that both Carolina and Tex were still trying to attack each other at the same. Using that as an opportunity to strategize and conserve his own efforts.

“Hiya, Grif!”

York turned his attention away from the battle momentarily to see a familiar orange form running towards them at Donut’s relieved exclamation, feeling slightly the same himself.  At least the chubbier soldier was okay still from the looks of things.

“We came to rescue you!” the pink-armored fighter smiled cheerily, very much thrilled to see his teammate unharmed.

“Ten minutes ago would have been a lot better.” Grif joked, though he looked more than just a little relieved to see them all the same.

“Well, some of us came to rescue your sorry butt.  Others of us just came to mock you for your continued incompetency out on the field.” Their commanding officer said in his usual gruff voice, giving Grif a look over to assess his condition and nodding his head slightly in his direction, “So way to go there, numb nuts.”

“¿Dónde están Sheila y los demás?” _{“Where are Sheila and the others?”}_

Grif pointedly ignored Sarge’s insult and looked at Lopez instead.  Apparently, his mentioning one of the Above Grounders by name was enough for the tan man to understand what the robot said this time, “They got on the transport and left when that asshole started shooting at people.” There was an odd look on Grif’s face when he said that, almost as if he was upset by something, “They’re okay, but...they’re gone now.”

Lopez said nothing, but York could swear he almost heard the robot sigh for some reason.

“Good riddance, I say.” Sarge harrumphed, “Now we just need to kick their friends out.”

“Easier said than done.” Grif looked over at the combatants once more, so engaged in the fighting that they didn’t even seem to notice that more people had entered the area, “That douche in the steel and green is that Locus mercenary Kimball was talking about earlier.  The scary lady, the one that _isn’t_ Tex, is kind of _all_ sorts of scary too.”

York couldn’t help but snort, knowing from personal experience just how much of an understatement the comment was.

Sarge sighed, thinking for a moment.  He stepped forward decisively after a terse few moments of silence beyond the sounds of the fighting, his weapon of choice at the ready, “All right, Grif, since you’re unarmed and don’t even have a helmet, you’re beyond useless in this situation.” He was quick to correct himself by adding in, “Not that you’re much use when you _are_ even remotely prepared for a combat situation, mind you.”

“Oh wow, thanks for that.” Grif rolled his eyes.

The older man continued on as if Grif hadn’t said anything, “Normally, I’d order you to go distract the enemy or be a human shield in situations like this.”

“Your leadership skills are truly amazing.”

Again, Sarge ignored the commentary, “But I want you to go find Kimball instead and report on the situation.” He sighed, “It’s not ideal, but as long as you at least get shot at some along the way I’ll deal with it as best I can.”

Grif groaned.

“Well, what are you waiting for, dirt bag?” Sarge yelled when his subordinate didn’t move, “Get going!”

Rolling his eyes, the orange soldier did as instructed all the same.  Since he _wasn’t_ fully equipped, he probably thought this was one of the few times where an order from his C.O. made some sense at least. Even if the reasoning behind it was still a little questionable.

“What are we going to do then, Sarge?” Donut asked the second their only recently reunited with teammate was out of sight.

The old man let out a chuckle in response, his shotgun poised and at the ready.

“What Red Team does best, Donut,” he said gleefully, “Charge in and kick ass!”

York blinked.  The likelihood of this _not ending well_ was probably pretty high.

But if he could just get the chance to talk to Carolina, then maybe…

“Probablemente deberíamos tratar con el mercenario primero. Lo más probable es más fácil de tomar porque su atención está dividida.” _{“We should probably deal with the mercenary first.  He will most likely be easier to take out because his attention has been divided.”}_

“First, the mercenary goes.  He’s distracted by two enemies and has probably used up more energy.” Sarge surmised.

York was once again impressed.  That was actually a pretty good, all-around strategy.

“Acabo de mierda dije eso!” _{“I just fucking said that!”}_

“Quiet, Lopez!  We need to strike while we still have the element of surprise.” Sarge told his creation.

“Maldita sea.” _{“Goddamn it.”}_

Sarge raced forward, shooting in the direction of Locus as he turned to strike out at the two other soldiers he was fighting against with a combat knife.  He looked to be trying to aim it directly in-between Tex’s shoulder blades while she was punching Carolina right after the two had sent Locus sprawling to the ground earlier. Sarge's team and York moved in after him.

Donut yelled “Fire in the hole!” as he lobbed a grenade in the mercenary’s direction. “Hey,” he said after a few minutes, joyful realization creeping into his voice, “I guess that can apply to fights too!”

York shook his head and Sarge sighed, “Son, do we have to go over what we’d talked about before _again_?”

Locus glanced at the grenade, which had landed only a few centimeters from his head on the wall directly behind him.  He moved quickly, almost with a feline’s agility, rolling out of the way of a majority of the subsequent blast mere seconds later. He patted out the flames that had managed to strike his arm still disinterestedly and with no sense of any immediate urgency.

_Well, that’s not disconcerting at all_.  York frowned at the sight, aiming his gun at the other man.  Nearby he could see Lopez and Sarge doing the same.

“That aim wasn’t bad.” Locus glanced over at the new Resistance fighters who had joined the fray once the last bit of smoke dissipated from his armor. Seemingly nonplussed that all of their weapons were drawn on him now.

“Reinforcements,” he focused on the tan-armored fighter in their midst, seemingly recognizing him despite how York hadn’t known about him until he’d heard Kimball talking about Locus earlier, “And another traitor Freelancer as well.”

“York.” Someone else, whom he was _very_ familiar with on the other hand, said his name just then.  He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that there didn’t seem to be any kind of emotion attached to it.

He grinned sheepishly in response, despite knowing how she wouldn’t be able to see it. One hand rubbing the back of his helmet subconsciously before he could stop himself, “Hey, Carolina.  Long time no see.”

She said nothing and he had no idea what he should do next.  He wanted to do lots of things, really. But most of them he imagined would probably end up with him getting knocked out cold unless they really had a chance to talk.  …Even then it wasn’t like his chances of that not happening would probably improve _too_ much.

Locus used the distraction of their exchange to activate his camouflage.  Apparently having six fighters to do deal with all at once was something he wasn’t as keen on from a tactical stance.  The mercenary disappeared from view completely.

“Fuck!” Tex was moving past all of them to the closest tunnel nearby, probably hoping that she could catch up to the asshole before he got away.

Only seconds after Tex had vanished through it after him, there was a blur moving quickly past York and a scuffle that lasted _way too quickly_ for comfort.  Sarge and the others were out cold and York was facing an unreadable Carolina staring at him farther away than she had been before, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

_Holy shit, she’s not holding back today._

York swallowed, not sure what to make out of why he wasn’t on the ground yet too and knowing that could change in a matter of seconds given how quickly she was capable of moving.  Even if York did try to put up a fight, which he would if he had to even if he didn’t want to do it at all, he also knew from past experience that it would most likely end with him out cold like the others.  Exactly as it had happened on the Mother of Invention.

“So you’re working for the Resistance now too.” Carolina turned her entire focus on him, her tone cold: “With her.”

York still remembered how their last meeting face-to-face had gone down.  He was desperate to avoid a repeat of it even though he knew that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Which wasn’t fair, really.  Especially since there was _so much_ he needed to say still.

“Carolina, you know that what the military’s been doing down here is wrong.” He tried reasoning, really hoping that the sense of déjà vu he was getting wouldn’t play out completely this time, “That something strange is happening with the project.”

She said nothing, but at least she wasn’t pummeling him senseless.  That edged him on, made him a bit more confident that maybe this time she might be willing to listen to him.

“You almost _died_ because of it!” he stepped forward, trying to close the distance between them.

It had become a virtual _chasm_ over the years since they’d first met. The separation and defection certainly didn’t help, but he knew a part of her was listening, at least.  If he could get through to that part of her, maybe things could start to change.

“What happened to you, to Maine, to Wash!  You know none of it had to happen!”

There was a sharp pain in his gut before he even took another step. He was doubled over with Carolina’s fist slammed upwards into his abdomen.  Even with his armor on, he could taste blood in his mouth.

She was definitely not pulling her punches today.  Then again, and he couldn’t help but smile sadly despite how much it _fucking hurt_ , when had she ever?

“I know that, York.” She was tilting her head to talk closer to his ear, his body almost close to collapsing on top of her due to the incapacitating blow.  The emotion in her voice was hard to define, “We’ve both just chosen differently how to deal with it.”

She removed her fist and he slumped over onto the ground, wheezing and seeing stars in his one good eye. Confused as all hell by her remark.

“W—what does that mean?” he managed to gasp out, though it was a struggle to not want to pass out on the floor right there.  Or vomit, which would be a decidedly bad thing to do with a helmet still on.  He recalled them once teasing Washington about the regulation systems of the armor when it came to a person getting sick and somehow that memory made everything hurt even _worse_. He really didn’t want to test it himself either.

“Stay alive and you’ll find out eventually, York.”

He could almost swear when she said that that her voice sounded similar to when they had first met, when the pretty girl in the club had teased him by snatching away his lighter.  Had the punch somehow addled his brain and made him prone to wishful thinking? Or was there something more to what she was talking about that he couldn’t figure out yet?

A flicker of green appeared at Carolina’s shoulder as she watched him trying to remain conscious and his good eye widened at the sight.

“Hello, York.” Delta’s calm voice, one he hadn’t expected to hear again, filtered familiarly to his ears, “It’s good to see you, though I regret it is not under better circumstances.”

“D—D, what the fuck?” York blinked his vision admittedly still very spotty, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.  He glanced at Carolina questioningly, “Why...is D with you?”

“Agent Carolina is—“

“That’s enough, Delta.” She cut him off before his former partner could say anything else, “We need to get moving if we’re to catch up with the transport.”

Her voice turned venomous at the next part and he could just imagine her green eyes darkening in anger, “I need to have a word with the Council on their choice of a mercenary.”

“Of course.” Delta flickered and turned to York again, nodding slightly, “I hope we will be able to meet again.”

“Wait—“ there was so much York wanted to say to both of them. But the force of his outburst caused his weakened form to fall forward onto the ground completely as the A.I. Fragment that had once been his partner and later on, begrudgingly, _friend_ , disappeared from sight once more.

With no small effort, he moved his head so that he wasn’t lying face-down on the ground, staring sideways up at Carolina who was still looking down on him. Her body language unreadable.

Had she shown him Delta on purpose?  Did she want him to know that she had his partner? That he was okay?

Why did she even have him in the first place?  York had been certain that once their implantations had been removed, the Director wouldn’t let anyone use his and North’s partners again given what had happened.  He’d always felt horribly guilty over that.  He couldn’t even bring it up with North at all.

“C—Carolina…”

She turned to leave then, apparently convinced he wasn’t going to be getting up to move after her anytime soon. Only stopping once to say over her shoulder without turning back in a quieter voice, “It…was good to see you again, York.” A pause, and then that almost hesitant train of thought was followed with a steel-edged: “Just _don’t_ try to get in my way anymore.”

With that she disappeared and he was still trying to figure out how to get back up on his feet again, more questions floating through his head than answers now. A sinking feeling growing in his chest that he could very easily lose two people he still cared a hell of a lot more for than he’d ever want to admit before they had really ever had the chance to reconnect properly again.

“Si alguien no repara mi cuerpo pronto, voy a estar enojado.” _{“If someone doesn’t repair my body soon, I’m going to be pissed.”}_

Lopez’s severed mechanical head was still twittering incomprehensibly a few meters away, but York had just as good an idea of what he was saying as he did about whatever Carolina was up to... Which made him feel even more sick and out of sorts.

_Damn it._

*****

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

Tucker winced at the unknown voice forcing him awake.  He could just barely make out a blurry form in steel ( _he was kind of sick of that armor color by this point_ ) and orange hovering over him. It was jumbled together with a whole lot of other blurry spots in his vision.

He probably should be wary since he didn’t remotely recognize the guy, but his brain was in no mood for that level of clarity yet.

“A gunfight, a tunnel collapse, and an asshole.  In that order.” Tucker managed to groan out, trying to sit up again.

Granted, the asshole had kind of been interspersed in there a whole lot more before this incident even occurred but he really didn’t see the point in telling all of that to a total stranger.

The steel and orange figure was hovering over him almost immediately, pressing gloved hands on his shoulders to keep Tucker from moving around too quickly, “Hey, now, better take it easy.  It looks like your head in particular’s taken a beating.”

Yeah, doubly so because of Washington.

He was almost disappointed that the Freelancer hadn’t stuck around in order for him to give him a piece of his mind and a punch to the face for good measure too... Just to see how the fucker liked it!

He didn’t bother responding to the newcomer, trying instead to get the fogginess to clear from his mind and his vision to return to normal.

“You might have a concussion, which would make moving around too much a really bad idea.” The stranger seemed to not pay attention to the fact that Tucker hadn’t said anything.  He probably figured he would have to acclimate himself now that he’d just woken up from unconsciousness.

Tucker was sort of surprised when he looked down to see his sword lying on the ground next to him.  A frown formed on his face as he picked up the familiar item.  He’d been sure, especially after the whole “knocking him out” incident, that Washington would have just kept the damn thing.

He was glad Washington hadn’t as he very much preferred stabbing and swishing to firing a gun once he had gotten used to the energy weapon, but he wondered why.

After what Tex had told all of them earlier before Caboose had introduced them to Freckles, he had assumed most Above Ground military would be eager to get their hands on any kind of alien tech they came across.

_Whatever.  Doesn’t make him any less of a dick._

Speaking of military and alien weaponry, the stranger who had found him was eyeing his sword with obvious interest once he’d realized what Tucker had picked up.

“Is that a—“

“It’s _mine_.” Tucker gripped it tightly and glared at him for added emphasis, “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Okay, fair enough.  Didn’t mean for you to get all weirdly possessive over it.” He shrugged and whistled slightly, still looking at the weapon in Tucker’s hand intently, “Though alien energy swords are pretty rare.”

The guy knew his weaponry and tech then.  Now Tucker was even more cautious, since that pool of people was pretty limited.

The armored figure seemed to not pay attention to his suspicions though. Or maybe he noticed them and was just deciding to be nonchalant over it, hard to say: “You’re a member of the Resistance, right?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly to get a better look at the unknown person, “Who are you?”

“Felix.” He slightly nodded his head in a way of greeting, “I’m a freelancer.”

Tucker’s sword was glowing brightly and was pointed at Felix’s throat almost immediately following his introduction. The other man quickly held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, “Whoa, I didn’t mean one of _those_ Freelancers.” He explained quickly, “I’m a mercenary.  Hired for your side.”

“Describe yourself that way _first_ next time, damn it!” he winced and hoisted himself up by leaning against the wall, his body screaming in protest at the effort.  Stupid fucking Washington and his twisted views on “returning favors”! Now his body ached worse than it did after the tunnel cave-in.

“Oh, right.  Sorry.  Those guys must be major pains in your asses, huh?” Felix’s apology also held a note of amusement to it, which made Tucker sigh.

_You have no fucking clue._

He was going to glare at him again for that, when what the mercenary had actually said moments before suddenly clicked in his head.

“Did you say your name was Felix?”

Another nod, “You’ve heard of me, huh?  Not surprising.  I _am_ pretty good at what I do.”

Wow, his smugness almost made Tucker’s own look tame.

“Kimball was talking about you earlier.” He recalled, “Was debating hiring you.”

“She ended up making a good call in the end.” Felix crossed his arms over his chest, posture almost thoughtful, “Though I can’t say my first day is going too great.”

Tucker couldn’t stop himself from recalling another random thought related to the mercenary too, “Sarge was pretty against it.”

“The crazy old military guy?” he seemed more amused by that than anything else, “I thought he might have been since he was always glaring at me when I met with Kimball.  Hard to tell with the mumbling though.  He kept ranting about orange for some reason.”

Shit.  That reminded Tucker of Grif and he sort of hated himself for bringing it up.  Maybe he _should_ get his head checked out like Washington had said, though it was certainly in worse condition now thanks to him.

He hoped the chubby asshole was okay.

“We should probably find someone to look at your head.  Just in case you do actually have a concussion.” Felix said matter-of-factly ( _holy shit, was he a mind reader?_ ) as Tucker stopped leaning on the wall and moved away from it slowly, heading down the corridor that he and Washington had been traveling before on shakier steps than he’d like to admit.

He had a feeling he’d been out long enough that they wouldn’t run into him or that Freelancer chick.  Tucker couldn’t tell if he was honestly more glad or disappointed.

“I’d like to find Kimball too.” Felix was walking beside him then, glancing over to see about Tucker’s progress but not trying to actively assist him.  He was a hired gun, after all.  Maybe just voicing a suggestion on what Tucker should do about his injury was the closest he’d come to being concerned over it. Or maybe he was just afraid offering to help would hurt Tucker’s pride, “Maybe renegotiate some things in my contract.”

Felix did seem to enjoy hearing himself talk.  He wasn’t sure who that reminded Tucker of, but it seemed strangely familiar to him all the same.

“That’s fucking fine and dandy, but I also need to check in with my teammate.”

“Why?” Felix regarded him curiously, “Are they injured too?”

He didn’t sound too concerned, though he did turn his head slightly to peer around at the area they were in as if on the off-chance that maybe Tucker’s teammate was close by.

Tucker’s eyes narrowed, “No, I just need to tell him that all of his new friends are assholes.”

The mercenary paused then, turning back to look at him once more at a loss.  Tucker could tell he was looking at him questionably even though he couldn’t see his face.

He continued on with his mumbling rant, oblivious to Felix’s confusion, “The only one I can even stand at the moment is the killer robot and that’s only because the fucking thing hasn’t tried threatening my friends or shooting me.  _Yet._ ”

The awkward pause lingered with Felix looking at Tucker who was staring determinedly ahead of him, and then looking anywhere else as if hoping to find clues as to what exactly the teal-armored fighter was going on about.

Finally, Felix gave up and sighed, “This…is going to be a weird as fuck group to work for, isn’t it?”

Tucker shrugged indifferently, “You get used to it.  Sort of.”

“I’m definitely going to be renegotiating my contract now.”

*****

The doors to the infirmary opened and closed quickly, though Simmons didn’t even bother looking up.

“Hey.  How’d it go?” Church asked, standing next to the chair that the maroon soldier was currently occupying in the far corner of the examination room.

They had returned to Above Ground several hours ago, with Church being whisked off by a thoroughly perturbed Carolina to a briefing.  Simmons had been somewhat thankful he _didn’t_ have to attend for once, given how aggravated she’d looked.

Sheila had been taken to get looked over in maintenance. Simmons had been brought to the infirmary onboard the Mother of Invention on the off-chance that he might have sustained possible injuries. Or that his cybernetics perhaps needed some tuning. Though he knew he hadn’t been hurt in the slightest and that everything was working fine in regards to his enhancements thanks to his own diagnostics.

But he understood that it was just standard procedure, so he didn’t argue the point.  The doctors found out soon enough on their own that he was perfectly all right. He’d just been sitting here since then to try to collect his thoughts since the last several hours had become one big fucking blur.

“Fine.  We weren’t injured or anything.” He was sort of surprised Church would even ask, raising an eyebrow in response and glancing over at his teammate, “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” he brushed the question off uncaringly, “The doctors here never want to look me over for some reason.”

“Probably due to your attitude.” Simmons couldn’t help but blurt out his joking comment before he could stop himself on the off-chance that Church might react negatively to it.

“Oh, shove it, nerd.” Church’s response was surprisingly mild and more joking himself.  He took a seat in the chair next to Simmons, looking oddly pensive.

Not that Simmons couldn’t understand why, or why Church seemed distracted in his own thoughts now.  Things had happened so quickly after getting on the transport, after all.  They hadn’t really had a chance to talk or really reflect on anything since then.

“H—how did the briefing go?” he was almost afraid to ask, given the clouded look on Church’s face.

But the goateed man surprised him once again by not snapping something volatile back as he usually would have. 

Instead, he sighed in frustration, “Oh, it went _great_.  Carolina’s mad as all fuck, but not at any of us.” His eyes narrowed on a spot on the other side of the room filled with medical equipment, “Apparently a whole lot of shit is going down we don’t even know about.”

“Oh.” He blinked, not really sure he wanted to know more.

Then again, a large part of him _did_ want to know more simply because they’d gotten directly involved in the whole mess as a result.  Which wasn’t fair to them at all. Or to Grif. Or to _any_ of the other people who had been affected by it, really.

“And you know what?  I can honestly say I _don’t_ want to know about whatever the fuck is going on.” Church seemed to have the opposite reaction to the news than Simmons did.  His voice had a level of vehemence to it that was rather surprising, “This whole damn situation is way too messed up as it is without knowing anything.  Whoever said ignorance is bliss is a goddamned moron.  I can only imagine how much worse _actually knowing_ would be.”

“You mean like with the Slums?” Simmons couldn’t help but ask despite Church’s rant, naturally curious and inquisitive as he was.

Church frowned but didn’t yet rebuke him for having not dropped the subject, “Well, yeah, that’s one big part of it.” He said, “Freelancer too.  And the Council.”

“Do you—think that’s maybe why Tex and the others defected?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because Church turned to glare at Simmons, causing the maroon soldier to instantly shut up and fight the urge to shoot himself in his own foot for not knowing when it would have been wiser to keep his mouth shut.

Tex definitely seemed to be one of those touchy subjects. Especially where Church was concerned.

“I wouldn’t mention her in particular around here again.  To me or to anyone else, really.” His teammate advised, voice low and emphatic, “ _At all._ ”

Right, probably a sore subject not only for him, but others here as well.  Simmons was honestly curious about Church’s past with Tex, but knew better than to bring it up again after that very obvious warning to drop the subject.

Once he seemed confident that Simmons wouldn’t say anything else, Church’s expression became slightly less severe and he looked away disinterestedly, “Anyway, thought I’d let you know that you don’t have to write up a mission report or anything on this one.  Carolina said so.”

“Oh.”

Church looked at him in amusement at how half-hearted his response had sounded, “Are you actually disappointed by that?  Jesus, you _are_ a nerd!”

Heat rushed up to the parts of his face that could still blush and Church snickered.  Simmons’ offended glare moments after only causing his black-haired teammate to let out a sharp burst of laughter instead.

He turned serious a couple minutes later though, regarding the still somewhat glowering Simmons carefully, “I figured you would have trouble writing one anyways.” He said, the expression on his face indicating that he was unsure of how to approach this topic at all, “You know, on account of what happened.”

Right.  _Grif._

Simmons had actually been rather grateful for how busy things had been since he hadn’t had any time to dwell on that at all.  The reminder sort of brought everything rushing back to him and he couldn’t look Church in the eyes anymore.

He wished things could have gone differently, especially at the end there.  Leaving when he had just been a stupid little kid had been hard enough, but that was _nothing_ compared to how he felt as he was leaving then.

He was pretty sure that would be the last time he’d ever see his friend from the Slums again.  Hopeful for it, really, given how much of a cluster fuck that had ended up becoming.  Simmons wanted to apologize. To talk more.  But, even more than that, he just wished he knew for certain if Grif had managed to get out of there okay.

If he hadn’t…  Simmons clenched his knees tightly with his hands, desperate for that train of thought to just _go away_.

“Thanks for—for helping.  With that mercenary guy, I mean.” Simmons managed to squeeze out in a shaky breath instead, “I owe you and Sheila both.”

A shrug: “He was an asshole.  No big deal.”

Actually, it was a big fucking deal given what very probably would have happened if Carolina, and later on Tex, hadn’t interfered.  They both knew it too, but neither felt comfortable saying it out loud.

Church regarded him carefully, as if debating something in his head.  Finally, he asked, “You wouldn’t have been able to kill him anyways, would you?”

Definitely not.

It had been panic that had spurred Simmons to action then: fear for them and fear for the rebels too given what had been going on.  He doubted very much that he would have ever been able to bring himself to pull the trigger on anyone.  Least of all on Grif.

No, what was far more disconcerting was the fact that, despite knowing Above Ground policy on Slum dwellers and Resistance members, Simmons had still been tempted, had _wanted_ to haul Grif up there with them.  Without any thought on what his friend would have wanted on the matter too.  The desire to do so had been inside Simmons even before the hostage situation had come into play, if he was honest.  Hell, he’d sometimes debated it on occasion when he’d first come down there as a kid. Back when his self-appointed deadline to return to his family and military training had been up and he found that he hadn’t wanted to really leave at all.

Losing Grif again had been _that_ terrifying, that objectionable a thought that he’d very nearly lost any rationality in one particularly big moment of weakness.

He’d never felt that way before about anyone. It honestly scared the shit out of him if Simmons let himself dwell on it too much.

He didn’t respond to Church, but the redness on the flesh and blood portions of his face and neck no doubt said it all for him.

Church surprised him by not insulting him or teasing him.  Instead, he reached out and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. Clearly not that used to doling out comfort and probably hating the action as a result, “Look on the bright side.  At least you aren’t the mechanics right now who are probably confused as all fuck as to why Sheila keeps humming in Spanish!”

It was an awkward attempt at consoling, but Simmons was grateful for it all the same.  He smiled weakly, not trusting his voice to talk just yet.

“He’s probably fine, anyways.” Church continued, figuring out that was probably what his worrywart of a teammate needed to hear.

“Y—yeah, you’re right.”

Simmons hoped so, at least.

A purple helmet peeked through the door just then, interrupting their conversation.

“Hey, guys.  I just heard you got back!” Doc’s tone was happy.  Simmons figured he probably didn’t even know the whole story about what had happened due to being so focused on his medic training, “Did you bring back any souvenirs?”

“For the love of—Doc, where would we pick up souvenirs in the goddamned mines?” Church rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“It isn’t nice to typecast, Church.” Doc reminded him gently, “Maybe someone wanted to set up a shop there for the ambience.  You never know.”

“I really hope your medic training is doing better than your perception of reality is.” The man in cobalt armor sighed heavily, “Though I somehow doubt it.”

“If you guys are feeling under the weather or happen to get shot, let me know!  A little orange juice and aloe vera works wonders on pretty much _everything_!”

*****

“So Locus is still being employed by the Council after all of that?” C.T.’s voice took on a disbelieving tone to the news she’d just heard.

Carolina nodded grimly, a very displeased look on her face, “Unfortunately.  They consider him a valuable ‘outside source’ now that Project Freelancer is no longer as credible as it once was, apparently.”

“But that’s—“

“ _Drop it_ , C.T.” her voice left no room for argument and the other Freelancer promptly closed her mouth.

This was not good.  Not only was Locus just not someone one would want hanging around in general, but he was somehow onto her as well.  Which meant that if he was hanging around, C.T. was liable to get caught eventually.

That would not be good for a myriad number of different reasons.

“If he steps even remotely out of line again where we’re involved, it _will_ be over.” The leader of the Freelancers stated, her green eyes flashing in anger, “But at the moment he’s smart enough to be hiding under their jurisdiction.”

Strictly speaking, on the planet’s surface he was pretty much untouchable given how much influence the Council had.

She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

When she said nothing, Carolina simply left without another word.  She’d probably just believed that C.T. should know about the situation since she had been the other Freelancer involved in the dispute.

Which left C.T. with a lot of time in the lounge area to think.

Though ten minutes or so of that was more or less devoted to wishing that Tex had been able to find the bastard despite his camouflage and beat his ass.

But even Agent Texas, skilled as she was, wasn’t perfect and Locus was far too good at fighting and knowing when to make himself scarce when he needed to from what all of the reports on him said.

After that, C.T. tried figuring out what the hell the Council had to gain in all of this. From the fake repair mission, to the rescue, to hiring a dangerous and not-all-that-stable mercenary like Locus in the first place.

They’d pulled out far too quickly to eradicate the Resistance entirely. While the rebel forces had sustained heavy losses regardless it was pretty much well-known due to their usual patterns that they’d simply move to another area of the mines and start the slow, probably painful process of rebuilding again and recovering from what had happened.  They had always been exceptionally resilient like that. Especially after the split with the Insurrection and its tragic consequences had more or less forced them to become that way.

_So it just didn’t make any sense!_

There had to be some sort of reason they had chosen to orchestrate this whole mess.  The Council never did anything without reason. They usually were pretty methodical in their approach once they had decided on a course of action.

It was really just an issue of figuring out _why_ at this point.

She sighed, frustrated at her lack of knowledge at the moment.

Maybe she should go talk to Simmons and his team. Ask about what exactly had happened when they found that the surveillance terminal they’d been sent to repair had been manually shut off instead of damaged like they’d initially believed.

She wanted to see how Simmons was doing in particular too.  She’d been concerned about him due to how unresponsive and sickly pale he had looked before he’d been dragged off to the infirmary after he’d left his friend from the Resistance behind.  She was fairly certain they had known each beforehand after seeing that last interaction.  No doubt about it, really, though that had made that whole exchange rather hard to watch seeing how the younger man reacted to it.

“C.T. .”

Washington was standing in the doorway, dust and dirt still covering his armor.  He had refused to say what had happened when she’d asked him about it earlier. Wyoming oddly enough had been rather silent on sharing what he’d done during the mission as well.

His helmet was off and his mouth was pressed into a thin line.  He looked like he’d aged decades since they’d been next door neighbors growing up when he wore that expression in particular. Which he wore quite frequently now, she noticed.  She missed the dorky smile and goofy laugh he’d had before.  It was always rather painful to look him in the face these days.

David hadn’t deserved _whatever_ had happened to him during that surgery. She knew that much.

There was a light in his gray eyes as he regarded her and she couldn’t quite read it.  Reluctance, it looked like. And something else too.  Frustration, maybe?

Though thinking that made her more than just a little unnerved.

Washington took a deep breath. When he spoke again he appeared to be calmer than he had been only a few seconds before.  Both his posture and voice were much more controlled.

“We need to talk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** All right, the conclusion to that “story arc”! XD Haha, I am never going to try writing so much out before I start typing. That took forever. 0_0;
> 
> Anyways, I hope this final portion was an enjoyable read and the last few parts I did leave a little more “open-ended” on purpose since I have plans to go into what happens in them in a future portion of the story.
> 
> Next chapter will have the start of yet another time-skip and even more happenings and interactions! Don’t worry though, I have some reunion plans already in the works too so they’ll be happening a lot earlier on in the plot. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always.
> 
> EDIT: Sorry, my beta and I were rushing to get this chapter up so I have gone through and edited it again now. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Ten:

It was official, then.  Dexter Grif’s life had completely turned to shit.

Not that it had ever been _great_ , mind you.  Actually, he fairly certain some people would undoubtedly look at his life up until this point and called it “crappy.” However, he had never cared to dwell on it much, so fuck them.

At least he’d had “little things” to help keep him going.  His sister was generally safe through no effort on her part given her excessive partying.  He could also eat all the time and even had a couple vices like drinking or smoking.

…Never on duty though: you only make that mistake about twenty times when Sarge is your commanding officer and Franklin Delano Donut is in your squad.  Sarge proved true to his word on shooting Grif in the foot whenever he so much as smelled smoke or booze while the orange-armored soldier was on duty.  The sad thing was that that wasn’t even nearly as bad as Donut’s lecturing about the perils of “gateway drugs.” The lightish-red soldier even somehow managed to tape anti-drug pamphlets on the inside of Grif’s helmet whenever he put it down for a moment.

Grif could usually nap a good chunk of the day still too.  Another “little thing” plus.

So, given the general state of things as they tended to be in the Slums, he usually didn’t have much reason to complain.  Especially now, considering the stalemate situation the fighting had been in for the past few months.

Sure, Sarge was as insane as ever and Donut’s perkiness and oddball comments could sometimes make Grif want to pull his hair out, but he’d gotten pretty used to them by now.

It had been a little over a year since the last major offensive by Above Ground into the mining tunnels.  A little over a year since he’d last seen Simmons, though Grif tried not to think of it like that.  Best to remember it as a little over a year since the damn nerd had put a gun to his head.  But, any residual anger in the wake of that incident had been replaced with acceptance and an odd sense of sadness at how things had gone down then.  So he preferred not thinking about it at all anymore, if he could.

In a way, despite how crappy things turned with Simmons on that day, Grif supposed he should be grateful there hadn’t been any other major attacks on the Resistance or the Slums in general afterwards.  It didn’t mean they were in the clear or anything, far from it, but at least they had a pretty good respite from complete and utter annihilation for the time being.  They’d been in a desperate need for the chance to lick their wounds, after all.

No, that part was pretty good.  One would expect that that would mean Grif would have all the time in the world to devote to his favorite past time of doing absolutely nothing.

His mind right now, however, was choosing to be a major pain in the ass and was denying him the sweet succor of napping.  On what was his first break in _hours_ no less.

Again, probably wouldn’t seem like a big deal to most people, but Dexter Grif was a habitual napper.  Not getting a certain amount of time devoted to laziness generally made him very cranky.  Tucker had once said he was like a preschooler that way, to which Grif promptly told him to fuck off.

Grif knew exactly why his mind refused to let him sleep too.

In fact, he was _hiding_ out in one of the weapons supply rooms to avoid having to interact with said reason at all.  Just like he had been doing for the past couple of weeks.

He’d show her, all right!  He could fume just as well as any teenage girl (or Donut) when he was upset over something!

…He was fairly certain there was something off about that train of thought if he dwelled on it for too long, but it didn’t really matter given the point he was trying to make.  Grif was pretty sure that was still fucking valid, regardless.

The door whished open and he glanced up at the two young men who entered.  They were only two or three years younger than Kai, actually.  …Kids, really.

“Captain Grif?” one of them, the scrawnier of the two in tan armor with yellow trim, held out a box of confiscated snack cakes, “We got you your snack, sir.”

“Thanks, Matthews.” He wondered if he would even be able to eat it due to his lack of appetite these days.  He figured he’d try to make the effort since the two had gone to the trouble of procuring dinner for him.  …Well, it had probably most likely just been Matthews.

It would be rude to not at least attempt to eat the whole box and, while Grif could be an impolite asshole most of the time, eating protocol was something he took very seriously.  Not table manners because they were just pointless and kept someone from eating more, but the _important_ stuff like making sure you ate what you were given if someone tried to get you your favorite food.  Without those types of niceties, civilized life would surely devolve into anarchy.

Matthews took a few tentative steps forward then as Grif was debating his eating conundrum and handed him the box.  He quickly stepped back as if being in the senior officer’s mere presence would scald him somehow.  Never mind how lax most people were about protocol given that the Resistance wasn’t exactly a proper military set-up.

This caused the other young man with him in similar tan armor but with orange trim to scoff, “There’s no need to act that scared of Captain Grif, Matthews.” He chided, only slightly under his breath, “Unless you’re afraid he’d bite your arm off along with the food.  Which _might_ happen.”

The auburn-haired fighter looked horrified at the comment, glancing from his teammate to the older man to gauge his reaction and back again, “B—Bitters!” he exclaimed, warningly.

Lieutenant Bitters shrugged uncaringly, indifference plastered all over his face, “What?  You know it’s true.  We’ve seen him in the mess hall, for fuck’s sake!”

“But still…!”

Grif shrugged nonchalantly before Matthews hyperventilated anymore as Bitters continued not really caring one way or the other.  Truthfully, he kind of liked that aspect of Bitters: made him seem rather maverick-like in a way, which was fine by him.

“Eh, I don’t really care one way or the other so don’t bother getting offended on my account, Matthews.” He paused, face scrunched up in momentary reminiscence, “Besides, Bitters probably isn’t entirely wrong there.  I think I did maybe bite someone on the arm once for getting in the way of food.”

“…Told you.”

Matthews ignored the other lieutenant, looking shocked at the revelation, “Really?”

“It was only Tucker.  In hindsight, he should have known by then not to put his hands anywhere near my doughnuts.”

Doughnuts were _not_ something to be taken lightly, after all.  They only ever had them on rare occasions since they weren’t considered a major component of healthy eating.  He had severe issues with that, but no one ever took him seriously when he complained.  So, when doughnuts were made in the mess hall, it was safe to say that being around Grif could be kind of brutal.

Matthews tried processing this news and Grif almost felt bad for him.  The poor kid looked like his head was about to explode, his eyes wide behind his glasses as Bitters sighed, “Can we go then?”

Oh, shit.  Were they that hard up on protocol somehow that they thought he needed to excuse them for a favor?

Grif frowned, wondering if that somehow counted as an abuse of power on his end.  It’s not like he’d ordered them to do anything.

Ranks in the Resistance were more lax in general and just served more or less as a distinction between senior members and newcomers.  Not that many people took them seriously, much to the chagrin of a few of the old military diehards like Sarge.

Some Resistance fighters, like the Freelancers or Felix, didn’t even have ranks to begin with.  Grif supposed being highly trained agents from a secret Above Ground military program or being a gun-for-hire counted were their own special ranks of sorts, if one was trying to be super technical.

Grif really wasn’t sure _what_ to make of the fact that he and several of the other Resistance fighters got promoted to “Captain” simply because they had survived longer than others had.  But, so long as he didn’t have to change his ways too much he supposed he could deal with it.

But, looking at Matthews fidgeting as he was, he knew he’d probably picked to ask them because Matthews would do anything to please a superior.  The kid definitely had the makings of a fine kiss-ass already.  Bitters kind of just tagged along with him a lot of the time since the two had joined together and he generally had nothing better to do when not on duty. 

In honesty, being around the two younger soldiers for extended periods of time made Grif feel slightly uncomfortable.  Particularly Matthews.

He almost called him “Simmons” once or twice.  That was not only awkward but kind of brought up all of those unresolved feelings and memories he was trying to squash.  So, unless Grif had a favor he couldn’t be bothered with doing himself, he generally avoided the younger soldier or tried belittling him in an attempt to get Matthews to leave him alone.

Bitters, well, he generally liked Bitters.  Usually.  The younger man with brown hair dyed all sorts of odd colors in a haphazard fashion had a nonchalance and apathetic air about him that Grif could easily respect in a lot of ways.  Though sometimes it could be a bit much even for _him_ when out on patrol _,_ which he would never admit to out loud because he didn’t want to start sounding like Sarge whenever Grif did something like forget to bring the extra ammo.

In a way, he thought it was kind of odd how the two younger soldiers were always together given how different they were.

He actually mentioned that once to Tucker even.  His friend had only stared at him with a blank look on his face before shaking his head sadly as if Grif had just said one of the stupidest things in the world.  Which had sort of annoyed him since he didn’t get what the implication there was.

Matthews and Bitters were just two of several young recruits who had joined the Resistance recently.  Since the fighting had been pretty constant up until a few months ago, a lot of younger Slums residents had gotten fed up with how things were and had signed up.  Several of them had known people who were Resistance fighters already or had lost people they cared about in either the Level One massacre or in subsequent skirmishes.

It was still not quite certain what would happen with this youngest generation of fighters though, especially after one rather tragic altercation with Above Ground during what had been meant to be a routine patrol that left two of them dead.  It was the last really big fight that had occurred before Above Ground activity had become minimalistic in the mines.  So, at the moment, the orders and training for the rookie soldiers tended to be standard target practice drills and fetch quests for the more experienced ones.

Grif would be lying if he said he didn’t take advantage of that sometimes, but hey!  In his defense, he’d be just as okay with them telling him to “fuck off” if they really thought he was being a douche.  Actually, he’d felt kind of proud when Bitters had called him lazy to his face once.  In a weird sort of way, of course.

Besides, one of the younger ranks usually told him “You suck!” on a daily basis, so Grif was used to that sort of thing more than admiration or actual respect.  That particular new recruit was largely responsible for his lack of ability to nap now, which he was decidedly _not_ as cool with.

Just as he was about to tell Matthews and Bitters that it was perfectly fine by him if they went back to whatever they’d been doing, the door opened again from behind them and someone he’d decidedly not asked to do him any favors stepped inside.

“Dude, did you seriously get the lieutenants to sneak you food _again_?” Tucker’s tone had an oddly amused not of exasperation in it.

“You guys can leave.” He figured it was best to dismiss the two younger recruits now before Tucker really undermined whatever miniscule amount of superiority over them he still had.

“Right.  We should be on our way to do…something.” Bitters glanced hopefully at his teammate for confirmation about whatever that “something” was, though he really didn’t seem too concerned over having forgotten it.

“We have lunch now and then we have to check the grenades supply.”

“Wasn’t that Captain Caboose’s job?” Bitters didn’t seem too enthralled with the idea.

“Not anymore.” Tucker shuddered behind them, “He thought using them for sports was a great idea.”

“Liveliest game of dodge ball we’ve ever seen.” Grif joked.

“Yeah, seeing Donut have to use the fire extinguisher on Palomo was _awesome_.” Tucker definitely was becoming a pro at delivering sarcastic lines.

“And hearing him go on about having a guys’ only wet t-shirt contest afterwards wasn’t the greatest thing either.” He agreed.

“So no removing the pins or throwing them.” Bitters looked bored.  To be fair, that was pretty common knowledge to most people even if they hadn’t been around grenades before: “Got it.”

The two left then with Bitters giving a slight incline of his head towards both Grif and Tucker, while Matthews attempted an awkward salute before shuffling after his teammate.

Tucker waited until they were both gone before turning to Grif, annoyance clearly plastered on his face.

“You have _got_ to stop hiding, fatass.”

Grif didn’t look at Tucker as he opened the bag to one of the snack cakes, practically inhaling the desert moments later.

“I’m not hiding.” He replied sullenly the second he swallowed, not bothering to pay attention to the disgusted look on his friend’s face.

“Really?” Lavernius Tucker looked disbelievingly at him, “So you aren’t sulking in here just because she’s out in the mess hall right now?”

Grif glanced at him then, which probably was all of the confirmation the teal soldier needed that he was indeed on the right track with this line of conversation.

Tucker sighed, “It’s been…what?” a thoughtful look went into his brown eyes as he tried to determine the amount of time that had passed, “Two months?  You need to at least try to talk to her.”

“There’s nothing else to say.” His expression clouded over, “She didn’t listen to me then either.”

“Yeah, because she’s _stubborn_ as fuck!  Just like you.”

Grif said nothing, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.

His friend sighed again, “Look, I know you’re angry with her.  But, if you two don’t start talking again and something happens think about just how even more shitty you’re going to feel then.”

Grif took in a deep breath.  On the one hand, he knew Tucker was right.  But, on the other hand, the childish side of him that still probably had way more sway than it should wanted to scream out “But she started it!” instead.

Tucker seemed to sense the inner debate going on inside his head and decided an alternate approach was needed.

“All right, how about this?” he folded his arms over his chest thoughtfully, “You either go and talk to her right now or I will tell Bitters, Matthews, and all of the other lieutenants that the medics are putting you on a strictly enforced diet and helping you break that will count as insubordination.”

Grif looked up at him then, horrified at the prospect, “You wouldn’t.”

“Just try me, fatass.” He had a smug expression on his face, “The two of you need to sort this out.”

“You suck!”

A grin, “That’s what she said just the other night, bow-chicka-bow—OW!”

Tucker rubbed his head where Grif had punched him, but a knowing smirk was still apparent in his expression.

“If you still get annoyed by stuff like that, then it’s time to patch things up.  Don’t you think?”

Grif was already at the door, the box of snack cakes under one arm.

“Oh, shove it, Tucker.”

“And that’s _another_ thing she—“

Perhaps fortunately for Tucker, the door closed on him before Grif heard the last little bit of his joke as the tan fighter reluctantly trudged towards the mess hall.

*****

The mess hall was crowded this time of day as the newer recruits usually had the same assigned off-duty time.  Plus, many of the other Resistance fighters who had only just completed their assignments were heading there to get something to eat in the small timeframe they all had to relax.

In a way, Grif supposed it was nice having there be an actual crowd in the common areas of the base for a change.  When he and Tucker had first joined, the Resistance had been hurting for new members.  The mess hall had always been depressingly empty with only two or three people in it at a time and most of the chairs vacant.

It had even been more so at the end of the Above Ground siege that had been the last time he’d seen Simmons.  The mess hall became a silent, grim reminder of what they’d lost even after the base had been moved to a different location in the mines.

The number of new soldiers and the odd halt of fatal skirmishes they’d been having recently had definitely caused the atmosphere to change somewhat for the better.

Apparently, Bitters and Matthews had found their way back to the mess hall after helping Grif out.  He could make the two of them out sitting at a table off to the left with a darker skinned young recruit in tan and aqua-colored armor.

His name was Palomo, an enthusiastic although not always _there_ kid who seemed to idolize Tucker.  Tucker wasn’t too keen on Palomo’s fanboy tendencies, which Grif couldn’t help but snicker at it despite the head-scratching he often did in regards to Matthews’ desire to suck up to him.

Seriously, there were _way_ better people in the Resistance for the lieutenants to be hero worshipping.  Practically _anyone_ , really.

They did have actual former Freelancers in their ranks after all.  Also, despite coming across as a pompous ass at times, Felix was certainly worth whatever it was Kimball was paying him to stick around.

Compared to them, Grif and Tucker were just a couple of ordinary schmucks.

North had once suggested when it had been brought up that perhaps some of the lieutenants idolized the older Resistance fighters who had come from the Slums because they had something akin to common ground with them.  They had come from the same crappy situations.  Well, that was Grif’s wording more than North’s: he probably used something along the lines of “bleak” instead.  The Slums residents had joined the good fight and had somehow stayed alive against overwhelming odds.  That sort of thing made the newcomers to the Resistance hopeful and helped to boost morale.

Grif supposed he was right.  North usually was when it came to reading people.  Though he still questioned the younger fighters’ judgment on picking someone like himself to look up to all the same.  Tucker he could understand a bit more, truthfully.  He’d never say it to his face though because Tucker would probably mock him for it, but Tucker was actually a pretty decent fighter and very determined when he put his mind to something.

Sitting nearby Matthews, Bitters, and Palomo at another table was the person Tucker was now not-so-subtlety shoving him in the shoulder to get him to approach.

Grif glared at his friend in an obvious sign that he also saw them.  Tucker just grinned and gave one final, hard push on the chubbier man for good measure to keep him moving.

“No way!” a voice with an obvious lisp to it gasped out as they approached the group, “What did you do next?”

Kaikaina Grif grinned, apparently in the midst of retelling one of her infamous escapades which Grif tried very hard to ignore usually to keep his brain from turning to mush, “Well, I had both of my legs up above my head by that point and—“

She stopped in mid-sentence as she noticed their approach, dark eyes narrowing pointedly at Grif as her jaw clenched, “What the fuck do you want, asshole?”

Well, he didn’t have to bother asking if she was still mad at him then.  One mystery solved.

“Hey, Kai.” He managed to mumble out instead of yelling like he had the last time they’d talked, “Got a minute?”

“I don’t know.” She flicked the gloved fingers of her left hand disinterestedly, choosing to not look at him at all anymore, “Are you going to start shouting again?”

He felt a surge of annoyance and a very sudden need to defend himself, “You’re the one who joined without fucking telling me!”

“Because you wouldn’t have let me join if I’d asked, assface!”  Kai’s exclamation was immediately followed by her jumping up from her seat at the table.

The two siblings’ confrontation had caused all conversation in the immediate area to fall silent.

The two lieutenants who had been sitting with Kai fidgeted nervously in their seats at the exchange.

“Um, sh—should we leave?” the girl with the lisp due to still having a retainer whispered unsurely to her friend nearby.  Her name was Katie Jensen, a rather awkward and somewhat clumsy girl with an odd knack for machine repair and knowing all sorts of biology facts.  Freckles dotted a surprisingly tan face framed by two short brown pigtails.

Truthfully, it wouldn’t have shocked Grif to find out she’d perhaps lied about how old she was in order to get Kimball’s permission to join.  He never voiced those suspicions out loud since he assumed Kimball would have already known and Jensen probably had her own reasons for wanting to do so even if that was the case.  Yes, he was also aware that made him a pretty big hypocrite in regards to his thoughts on Kai joining, but fuck it!  He’d joined to avoid Kai having to do anything like that in the first place!

He probably paid more attention to Jensen simply because her tan armor happened to have maroon trim and sometimes, as with Matthews, she almost reminded him of Simmons when he’d first met him.  Which, again, he definitely did _not_ want to dwell on right now.

The other lieutenant, an attractive girl with blond hair, glanced at the two siblings with a frown.  Grif had actually forgotten her name, although he knew she liked playing volleyball as several male and even some female fighters commented on it.  He assumed it would be rude to ask for her name again months after she joined.  He kind of hoped someone would say it in front of him again so he wouldn’t appear so lazy and forgetful.

Grif had started referring to her as Volleyball in his head, which he assumed was slightly better at least than referring to her as “Pinky” due to the trim of her armor.  Also, it helped to avoid any confusion with Sarge’s nickname for Donut.

“Maybe we should go see if Captain Donut and Smith need help finding Caboose.” She said at length, glancing over to Kai, “Unless you want us to stay?”

Kai was still glaring at her older brother, but she turned momentarily to smile at her two new friends and waved them off, “Nah, you can get going.  I’ll see you guys in a few.”

Volleyball nodded, tugging a still worried-looking Jensen along behind her.

“All right, so now that you’re both here it is time to get your shit together, right?” Tucker asked hopefully, “This whole not talking to each other thing has gone on way too long!”

“Shut up, Tucker!” both siblings turned on him in unison.

The dark skinned man grinned and held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, “Oh, come on!  You guys both want to get this over with too, don’t you?”

“…I guess.” Grif mumbled, not looking at either his oldest friend or his little sister.

“Didn’t want it to be an issue in the first place.” Kai grumbled as well, an almost embarrassed blush forming on her face.  Given the sort of things Kai usually said or did without any hesitancy, her blushing was a pretty rare sight.

Grif looked at her then sharply, “So why’d you join then if you knew how I would react?”

“Because!” he was surprised by the raw look of hurt on Kai’s face following that one simple word.

Instead of elaborating any further she sat down at the table once again, looking at its surface instead of at him.  She was frowning, the troubled expression darkening her eyes.  It brought to his mind the times when she had been a little girl and had tried not to tell him when something was bothering her.  A child’s attempt at appearing “brave” in order to not trouble an older sibling they knew already had a lot on their plate.

Grif sat down across from her, his own expression softening at the nostalgia he’d just experienced.  He was only dimly aware of the fact that, since they no longer seemed to be trying to kill each other, Tucker had moved away to give them some privacy.

“Hey, talk to me, Kai.” He coaxed gently, figuring it best to approach this new turn of events similarly to how he had when they were younger.

She took in a shaky breath, her yellow armor still looking far too large for her in his eyes.

“I joined because you did.” She finally managed to get out, glancing up after a few more seconds had passed to gauge his reaction tentatively.

“But why?” he was frustrated as all fuck still, but he managed not to yell this time, “Kai, this is a real war.  You could get fucking killed!”

“So could you!” she shot back quickly, “Then what would I do?  I’d miss you, Dex!”

There were tears forming in her eyes and Grif sighed.  He almost felt like an asshole for having been so pissed off at her joining behind his back that he’d waited so long to have this conversation.

“Kai, I only joined so I could protect you.” He gave a small shake of his head, “You being here kind of defeats that.”

“So?  At least we’re here together and I’m not at home worrying all by myself.” She sniffled, “Besides, I’m old enough now that I don’t need you being the boss of me all the time.”

He _so_ wanted to argue, especially given how she’d hardly listened to him when they were younger anyways, but he decided to let her continue instead.

“Now I can protect you too!”

“Uh-huh.” He looked at her skeptically, “What are your thoughts on guns again?”

“Ew, they’re gross!” Kai said her usual response to that question.

“Wow, I feel safer already.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t use them if I have to.” She figured out what he’d been getting at pretty quickly with that sarcastic remark.  Her tone took on a challenging note, “I’m getting better at target practice.”

He sighed, trying to come up with some kind of argument that wouldn’t make him sound like a hypocrite and failing miserably at it.

Kai watched her older brother’s face as he had his internal debate, watery eyes pleading.

“Come on, Dex, please?” she begged, “I have just as much reason to be here as you or Tucker or any of the other lieutenants do.”

Damn, since when did his little sister actually start applying logic?  He looked at her in slight awe at having heard it from her.  It seemed as if she had been maturing without him having noticed.

“No matter what I say, you’re going to stay anyways.  Right?” he asked, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Fuck yeah!” the younger woman grinned, “If you tried to make me leave still I’d just hate you forever.”

“Dumb brat.” He couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face though at her very Kai-like response.

“Dumb asshole.” Kai was smiling too, their insults lacking any bite and having the same usual warmth their heart-to-hearts after bickering always contained.

The Grif siblings definitely had their own style when it came to warm and fuzzy moments.

He let out a sigh of relief, “Well, I suppose I’m glad we settled this then.”

“Yeah, being mad at you for so long kind of sucked.” She agreed.

“Tell me about it.  I couldn’t even nap when I had napping time and I actually had to force myself to eat all of my food.” He shuddered at the memory, a dark cloud looming over his features at the horrific recollection, “It was torture.”

She nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, I know what you mean.  You’re in a really bad way when you have to force yourself to enjoy a threesome.”

“Yeah…” Grif paused, his mind suddenly focusing on the last part of what his little sister had just said, “Wait, _what_?”

Kai grinned and stuck out her tongue at him instead of elaborating further.  He rolled his eyes in exasperation, not really sure if he even wanted to know more details than that.  Probably not.

It looked like they were back on the same page now, even if Grif still wasn’t all that thrilled with Kai having enlisted in the Resistance.  However, he knew ultimately he’d be thankful for this talk in the long run as Tucker had said.  Hopefully his friend wouldn’t be too smug over being right this time given the situation.

He had forgotten how exhausting talking to Kai could sometimes be for him mentally though.

*****

_“I hope you’ll make the right decision.”_

The communication flickered off-screen after the last sentence faded, as abrupt as the overall perfunctory tone of the message was in general.

Kimball sighed, drumming her fingers on the surface of the desk she was currently leaving over.  There was a frown on her face and her dark eyebrows knitted in thought.  She was still unsure what to make of the message despite having listened to it multiple times now.

“Man, even when he’s extending an offer for peace talks that Chairman Hargrove guy is still a dick, huh?” Felix asked from directly in front of her.

He had been standing in the doorway to her makeshift office for the better part of fifteen minutes while she had been listening to the message.  If the leader of the Resistance and his current employer was at all startled by him having caught her unawares, she hid it well.  Then again, very little seemed to rattle Vanessa Kimball beyond occasionally getting a bit frustrated at some of the more questionable antics of the Resistance fighters.

She glanced up at him and he gave a slight wave in greeting before sauntering in.

“Thought you should know there’s a few more weapons in storage now and a couple of armor pieces you might want to spread amongst the troops.” He frowned a bit, “One or two of the energy rifles need to be repaired though.”

She nodded, “If they can’t be fixed we can scrap them for parts later for weapons that could still feasibly be used.” She had a distant look in her eyes, but was still focused enough to add, “Good job as always, Felix.”

“I aim to please so long as the pay is good.” He grinned, then turned his attention to what she had been listening to earlier, “So that was the Council’s oh-so-gracious offer for diplomatic relations that the Freelancers and Sarge have been blabbing on about?”

Another nod.

 “It came through the secure channels right before you left for your last procurement mission.” She assessed him thoughtfully, “What do you think about it?”

“You mean beyond the obvious ‘the Council can’t be trusted as far as they can be thrown and they clearly have some kind of angle’ that I _know_ you are thinking as well?”

She nodded once more and he shrugged his shoulders, “Nothing much, really.” He regarded her carefully when she said nothing, a slight frown on his face: “Have you made a decision?”

Kimball wasn’t dumb.  The whole thing obviously smelled fishy.  Hell, one of the previous leaders of the Resistance before her had been killed at supposed “peace talks.”  Felix imagined her first impulse had been to hit the damn delete button the second the message came through.

But, with her body language now…

“How many times have you replayed it?” he asked, tone going serious.

“Enough to know that it isn’t so much a request for negotiations as it is an ultimatum.” She stared at the blank terminal screen, expression clouded, “You heard the implication too, didn’t you?  So did Tex and the others.  Even Sarge heard it.”

Yeah, it was a pretty blatant threat if a guy whose touch on reality was so very often debatable could tell it was there.

“This ‘reprieve’ we’ve had recently from heavy fighting is merely because Above Ground troops are being positioned elsewhere beyond the bulkheads blocking access to the surface.  They’re in numbers that would be catastrophic if Above Ground were to decide to go past those checkpoints and attack the Slums.” She summarized the content of the message even though he’d listened in on it, as if repeating it out loud would help her visualize the situation: “But, allowing a delegation to come down could avoid that.”

“So they’re forcing peace talks by threatening an entire settlement and leaving it all in your hands?” He smiled grimly, “Mighty gracious of them.”

“Which means there is some goal they’re trying to accomplish and the fighting was somehow hindering it.”

It was his turn to nod now, “More than likely.”

People never really surprised Felix with how far they’d go to get what they wanted.  Way of the world, it seemed.

“They must be desperate though, to so limit themselves and risk Council members.” She frowned, “Or they’re trying to lull us into a sense of complacency even as they force our hand.”

Felix sighed, already starting to tell where her train of thought was headed, “You don’t have much of a choice, do you?  They’re threatening to raze more of the Slums to the ground if this is refused.”

“There’s also the slim chance that something good could actually come from this temporary truce if nothing else.” Kimball sighed, “Though I doubt it.”

Good.  At least it seemed like everyone would be looking at this rationally for the moment if Kimball was approaching the whole thing with a wary mind.  Felix was already running damage control costs in his head.

Kimball moved past him, “I’m going to arrange a meeting with everyone available.  We have a lot to prepare for and—“

Felix cut her off, “I’m going to need double the pay for this.  Maybe triple.”

She stared at him blankly.  The mercenary wondered if she was annoyed enough to fire his ass on the spot for his remark, “…For staying at base and doing exactly what you’ve been doing?” she asked incredulously, “Felix, you’ve been a great asset this last year but we can’t just—“

“Not for that.” He grinned at the confused look on her face.  For the entirety of the friendly business associate/comrade-in-arms relationship they’d developed since she’d hired him, Felix catching Kimball off-guard rarely happened: “I’ll be going to the negotiations.  That’s a bit of an added risk, so I’ll need some extra compensation.  Whatever’s doable, of course.”

“Why?” she was curious.  Most likely she probably hadn’t expected him to volunteer for such a potentially dangerous assignment even with extra pay.

A shrug was his initial response.  Felix started tossing his combat knife in the air.  It was an action he did whenever he needed something to do with his hands and he was bored or wanted to look nonchalant.

“You’re going to need a bodyguard who actually knows what the hell they’re doing during this little conference since you’ll be understandably distracted.” Felix said, his tone deadly serious despite the general indifference he was managing to convey through his body language, “Fortunately for you, I happen to be a _fucking awesome_ one.”

*****

The atmosphere in the tunnel was thick and heavy.  It was quite a world of difference from how the weekly routine meetings normally went.  What with the betting pool in regards to when a certain orange soldier would fall asleep or when his C.O. would threaten to shoot him for it and all.

Considering how this meeting was also happening in the middle of the day as well instead of earlier, it most likely meant that something really serious was probably going down.

_Fucking perfect._

Grif let out a long suffering sigh.

It figured that the respite they’d been having recently wouldn’t last.

In the end, it was probably a good thing that Tucker had finally had enough of the drama involving his two oldest friends and helped get it resolved when he had.  Tucker had been right about one thing: it would have definitely sucked major balls if something had happened to either sibling while they weren’t talking to one another.

“Hey.”

Speaking of his teal armored friend, Grif gave a slight nod of his head in greeting when he sidled up to him.  Tucker looked around at the large space that served as the meeting room with mild interest.

Since the meeting had been called so quickly, not as many soldiers were in attendance.  Beyond the rest of Sarge’s Red Team and most of Tucker’s “Blue” Team, Grif only saw a few of the other more seasoned Resistance fighter squads mulling about.

How Tucker’s “Blue” Team got that name when there were technically only four members and only two of them wore any shade of blue was beyond him.  One of their members was actually a giant killer robot and their newest member was a soldier he still wasn’t sure he could trust dressed entirely in brown.

Also?  It was sort of just scary to think that Caboose counted as a senior member of _anything_ involving actual combat.

“Any idea what’s going on?” Grif asked.  He noticed that all of the lieutenants, including Kai, seemed to be in attendance too.

His sister gave them both an enthusiastic wave from where she was standing with Jensen, and Volleyball…and Donut, apparently.  The pink wearing soldier was also waving at both of them eagerly.

Grif gave a small, less enthused wave back.  Tucker did the same with an overly suggestive wink at the three girls, pointedly ignoring his friend’s “I will murder you in your sleep” glare with a mischievous grin on his face.

Tucker’s mood became _less_ cheerful when he finally noticed the shorter brunette standing in their midst in all brown armor as well.

“Oh, great.  _She’s_ here too.”

‘She’ being the fourth and newest official member of Blue Team.  Connecticut.

C.T. was a former Freelancer just like Tex and the others.  Unlike the trio who had defected before her, who flitted through squads whenever it was necessary or worked on their own more or less, C.T.’s skills in reconnaissance and support meant she needed to be a more permanent member of one team.  In the end it was decided that it would be Tucker’s “Blue” team.  Kimball thought that they could use the extra member since they were being utilized more in missions due not only to Freckles, but also Tucker’s continued improvements in regards to his sword skills.

In a way, Grif could understand Tucker’s apprehension towards her being a member of his team.  C.T. worked well on the missions, certainly, but no one ever hid the fact that she’d been an undercover informant for Tex who had ties to the Insurrection.  Rather personal ties, if the rumors about her were true.

A lot of people weren’t willing to trust her because of her Above Ground connection alone.  Unlike York, Tex, and North, the former Freelancer had stayed behind with Above Ground longer.  Knowing C.T. had done so for spying made a lot of the Resistance fighters with axes to grind less trusting of her intentions than the other former freelancers, unfortunately.  Adding in her past affiliation with a rebel group that was largely to blame for one of the most brutal massacres in recent Slums history and, well, there was a potential massive powder keg just waiting to explode.

Given what had happened to his mother, it seemed like Tucker still wasn’t quite sure how to approach his newest teammate.  Hell, he hadn’t even tried hitting on C.T. yet.  For Tucker that was definitely a sign that he had conflicting inner turmoil concerning her.

In all honesty, Grif wasn’t quite sure what to make of her either.

It bothered him slightly that she and Kai seemed to get along so well, although that was more probably his protective big brother instincts at play.  He had no idea if Kai knew about C.T.’s Insurrection ties and how that equated in her mind to what had happened to Tucker’s mom.  He certainly wasn’t too keen on Kai or any of the other lieutenants, as the younger recruits didn’t seem as against the former Freelancer as the older Resistance fighters were, getting dragged into bullshit by dumbasses wanting retaliation against C.T. or something equally moronic.

…He also knew C.T. had helped to save his life during the hostage situation and that she somehow knew Simmons.

So, yes, very awkward all things considered.

As they made their way over to the small group, a few other familiar faces also headed in that direction.  He noticed Caboose, smiling brightly as always, with Lieutenants Smith, Bitters, Matthews, and Private Palomo trailing behind him.  Even Lopez had drifted over, though it didn’t seem as if he was particularly looking to socialize.  More than likely the robot was probably hoping being in Grif’s direct vicinity would lessen any chance of Sarge trying to interact with him later.

“I don’t think I would have believed that if I hadn’t just seen it.” Bitters’ normally rather apathetic voice had a slight tinge of awe to it this time.

“I know, right?” Palomo’s enthusiasm was practically radiating off of him in waves.  He had a grin plastered on his face, “I told you I was telling the truth!”

The next to respond was John Smith, who was by far the oldest of the new recruits.  He was even older than Grif and Tucker, though Grif wasn’t sure yet by how much.  Smith looked rather surprised by whatever topic they were discussing, “I’m not sure why you are making a big deal over this.  Captain Caboose’s training regimen is unorthodox, yes, but it is highly effective.”

Matthews made a high-pitched squeak in the back of his throat, “T—training?”

Bitters stared at the larger man incredulously, “That is some of the most fucked up training I have ever seen.”

“What kind of training are you talking about here?” Tucker cut in at this point, looking at Caboose pointedly after hearing his friend’s name mentioned, “If you were playing dodge ball with the grenades again, Caboose, I really don’t want to be around here when the medics start chasing you.”

“Oh, do I need to get the fire extinguisher again or the hose?” Donut perked up even more after overhearing the exchange, “Come on, guys!  Who needs to get wet?”

“Sounds like somebody’s going to have a good time!” Kai chimed in, causing her brother to groan inwardly.

“A veces realmente me gustaría poder girar mi audición de forma automática.” { _“Sometimes I really do wish I could turn my hearing off automatically.”_ }

“See?  Even Lopez is excited!” the lightish-red soldier exclaimed.

Grif was pretty sure he saw Lopez slump his mechanical shoulders in response to Donut’s comment.

“¿Por quéme molesto envenir aquí?” { _“Why did I even bother coming over here?”_ }

Palomo’s dark face paled slightly, remembering the last dodge ball game Caboose had orchestrated.  He was quick to direct attention back to Tucker’s question.

“Oh!  Um, it wasn’t dodge ball this time, Captain Tucker.” He explained quickly, “Smith has been asking Captain Caboose for extra training.”

Tucker raised his eyebrow, glancing over at his teammate again and then at Smith in disbelief, “Seriously?” he asked.

Smith nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Really?” he asked again, looking over towards the younger man in blue armor, “Caboose?”

“I am very good at teaching.” Caboose supplied helpfully, “Remember when I taught Palomo what to do in a fire?”

“Yeah, because you accidentally _set_ him on fire!” Tucker reminded him.

Caboose turned to Palomo then, a very serious expression crossing over his features, “Always be sure to stop, drop, and roll.”

“Well, you know, Captain Tucker, you always do hear about that in school.  But thanks to Captain Caboose I got to apply it in real life for the first time.” Palomo grinned, eyes shining optimistically, “So that was actually kind of helpful in a way.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Tucker groaned, ignoring Caboose’s remark, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

“Yes, sir!” he was still beaming though, “Next time I’ll be even more prepared.”

His superior didn’t even bother responding, instead turning his attention again to Caboose and Smith, “Okay, then.  So about this special training?”

Caboose hummed cheerfully, “It’s very special.”

“Smith stands in front of Caboose’s robot dog and he shoots at him!” Palomo blurted out excitedly, unable to hold it in any longer.

“What the fuck, Caboose?” Tucker rounded on him incredulously.

“Oh, it’s just a game.  Like tag.” Caboose said, “But with bullets.”

“I suggested the new training regiment, sir, when Captain Caboose mentioned that Freckles was getting bored shooting at rocks.” Smith spoke up then, in defense of the younger blond-haired man, “It’s imperative for us to know that the assault droid is in proper working order.  Besides, Captain Caboose is correct: tag is an excellent way to sharpen your reflexes.”

“Yeah, only usually you’re not getting shot at when playing tag!” Tucker looked as though he wanted to hit his head repeatedly on something.

“The added adrenaline rush also helps to simulate battle situations when you be under heavy fire.” Smith said, his voice even and reasonable despite how bizarre the words he was saying were.

“Because you _are_ under heavy fire!” Tucker’s tone was beyond exasperated.

“Which makes the experience all the more rewarding when you succeed.” Smith said proudly, “Captain Caboose is a tactical genius when it comes to properly motivating people.”

“Smith is very fast.” Caboose said, almost sounding proud, “Even Freckles says so.”

“Thank you, Captain Caboose.” Smith looked incredibly touched by the remark.  The older man sounded almost as if he was going to cry when he was expressing his gratitude.

Tucker blinked, taking in a deep breath, “I have no words to say.” He muttered, “Literally none.”

“It was actually pretty impressive.” Bitters piped up, both Matthews and Palomo nodding enthusiastically in agreement.

“We should all try it sometime!” Caboose exclaimed, “It’ll be fun.  Like a party!”

“I’m sure the eventual trip to the infirmary will be a real blast for everyone.” Tucker rolled his eyes and after a few moments of contemplation, seemed to figure out what he was going to say, “Smith, no more acting as moving target practice for Freckles.  Kimball would be really fucking pissed if she found out Freckles shot someone.”

“Understood, sir.” He sounded somewhat disappointed, but nodded his head in agreement nonetheless.

“Caboose, why don’t you try taking Freckles out on more walks?  Dogs need exercise, right?” he looked thoughtfully at the lieutenants clustered around them, “Maybe take a few of these guys out on patrol with you both too.  Smith obviously has good reflexes that he needs to hone more if he can dodge Freckles’ aim.  It’ll be a potentially less lethal way to train for everyone.”

Caboose nodded and grinned, apparently rather liking the idea, “We can do that.  Right, Smith?”

“Of course, sir!” Smith saluted both Captains.

Grif smirked from behind his friend, “Wow, you actually sounded something like a leader there.”

Tucker turned around then, relief obvious in his eyes at having put a stop to a very obvious accident waiting to happen.  He stuck out his tongue juvenilely, “Oh, fuck off.  I was just worried that if Kimball found out about that she’d somehow blame me.”

“Well, you _were_ the one who told Caboose that he could throw a dodge ball game that one time.”

“Dude, I didn’t know he meant with live grenades!” he sighed, shaking his head as if to ward off the memories of that embarrassing incident.

“So no hose, then?” Donut frowned in disappointment, “That’s a shame.”

“You could always get Caboose to help you in the kitchen again, if you want.” Grif offered as an alternative, deciding to have fun at his younger teammate’s expense, “Doesn’t that usually involve some kind of fire?”

Donut’s expression became slightly horrified as he managed to squeak out: “An explosion, more like.” His fingers went instinctively to his blond eyebrows, which had fortunately grown back from Caboose’s last attempt to “help” cook.

“Yeah, cooking is fun.” Caboose nodded his head in a thoughtful fashion, “But I’m not allowed near the stove.  Or the oven.”

“Un movimiento inteligente.” { _“Smart move.”_ }

“Or butter knives.  Or spatulas.” Caboose nodded his head with each kitchen instrument he listed off, “Cooking is mostly a spectator sport.  Isn’t that right, Sergeant Biscuit?”

Donut nodded, looking slightly guilty at having fibbed to Caboose about being banned from using the kitchen appliances after the eyebrow incident, “That’s right, Caboose.”

“Never mind, Smith.  On second thought you could just trying baking something with Caboose if you need more special training.” Tucker piped up, “Might be even more reflex-intensive than walking Freckles would be.”

“Smith is a good cook though!” Caboose exclaimed proudly, “He makes me cookies all the time!”

“Really?” Grif looked at the larger man in surprise, several of the others doing the same.  Given his muscular build and stature, it seemed odd to picture him baking cookies.

Smith blushed slightly, the expression looking somewhat bizarre with his could-be-rather-intimidating outer appearance, “It was a pastime I learned from my wife.” He said in way of explanation.

There was a pointedly sad look in his eyes at the mention of his wife, though Smith blocked it out quickly and no one chose to comment on it.

They all had their reasons to be there, after all.

“He lets me watch too.  He and Commander Bisquick let me crack eggs sometimes.”

“Easier to get the shells out later than to stop a fire.” Donut whispered to Grif conspiratorially.

“Yes, Captain Caboose can be quite enthusiastic when it comes to cooking.” Smith seemed to be trying to be quite polite with his word choice, “The lesson in fire safety was very informative.”

That was an even nicer way of saying Caboose had almost set the base on fire again than Donut’s word dance around the topic could be.

“Stop, drop, and roll.” Caboose murmured.

“Exactly, sir!”

“Hey, that sort of sounds like me when I’m in the kitchen!” Palomo spoke up then, the easygoing grin back on his face, “Remember when I tried making a sandwich that one time, Bitters?  It was kind of funny!  Once the bleeding stopped, of course.”

His friend groaned, running a hand through his dyed hair, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.” He muttered, taking a page from Tucker’s book.

“You guys sure are lively.” C.T. commented.  She spoke more to Tucker, Grif, and the two other Red Team members since Palomo’s earlier remark had caused the lieutenants and Caboose to begin talking amongst themselves about various kitchen horror stories.

Tucker shrugged, his expression turning decidedly neutral in her presence, “You know us.  We live to entertain.”

Silence lingered after that for a few uncomfortable seconds and Donut glanced between the two uneasy teammates with a worried expression: “So, any idea what the meeting is about?” he tried asking to break the ice, tone high-pitched but somehow managing to convey a conversational air at the same time.

“Ni una puta idea. Sólo estoy aquí para esconderse de ese viejo senil.” { _“Not a fucking clue.  I'm just here to hide from that senile old man.”_ }

Lopez muttered something in Spanish, but it was ignored by everyone else since his “translator” Donut was waiting to see if the two Blue Team members would say anything instead.  They didn’t, though both glanced at the other as if to see if either of them would say something.

“Did your other Freelancer buddies fill you in on what was going on?” Grif had noticed the lack of Tex, York, and North in the meeting area and figured if they had known anything C.T. was probably their best bet to get information from.

She frowned and shook her head, “Haven’t seen them recently.” She told them, “They went out on a scouting patrol earlier.  Didn’t look too happy about it.”

“Well, yeah, but when does Tex _ever_ look happy?” Tucker countered, only partially joking.  Even when she smirked, there was usually a very harsh light in Agent Texas’ eyes.

C.T. smiled slightly, the mood between the two of them thankfully at least seeming to cool off a bit as the exchange progressed.  There was a worried look in her eyes all the same though: “True, but Kimball hasn’t left her office all day either.  I think something’s up.”

“Of course it is!” a gruff voice said from behind them, “This whole thing is mighty suspicious if you ask me.”

Sarge was standing there, with both Kimball and Felix stepping to the room moments after him.  It seemed as if the three of them had met out in the corridor and decided to enter together.

The mercenary gave a small wave in the group’s direction before going off to the side away from them to toss a knife into the air.  His body language was dismissive even when Felix periodically glanced over at them as if to gauge their reactions to whatever was going to be said next.

“Your opinion is noted, Sarge.” Kimball told him, a sigh escaping from her lips, “And most likely accurate, besides.”

The older man scoffed, “But you’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

She smiled weakly, brown eyes apologetic, “Afraid not.”

Before any of them could begin to ask what they were talking about from what seemed to be a conversation that clearly had started earlier that day, Kimball turned to the people gathered in the meeting space.

Her voice became louder with what she said next, filling the entire area, “Thank you for coming on such short notice, everyone.  Some might know this already, but we just received a communication from the Council about holding a negotiations session in the Slums.”

She frowned, “More like an ultimatum, really.”

Whispers around the room followed, with several soldiers turning to share questioning glances at one another.  Grif caught C.T.’s eyes briefly, but she looked just as dumbfounded as any of them.  She gave a slight shake of her head to indicate that this was the first time she was hearing this news.

“And by ultimatum, you mean…?” Grif finally spoke up.

Kimball’s lips pursed into a thin line at the question he had allowed to trail off, “They are threatening to raze more of the Slums if we do not agree to the meetings.”

Tucker whistled then, “So I guess telling them to ‘fuck off’ is off the table?”

A grim smile made its way onto Kimball’s face, “Unfortunately so.”

“So, we’re going to have to attend these peace talks which may or may not be a trap?” Tucker frowned, “Really fucking diplomatic of them.”

The Resistance leader regarded him carefully, “Only I have to attend the talks, really.  That was the main stipulation.  Anyone else is optional.”

“Right, because letting you get shot would do wonders for us.” Grif put in.

“We don’t have much choice.” She glanced at Felix then, “Felix has offered to be my bodyguard for the duration of the event.”

He cut in then, smugly, “For a modest fee, mind you.”

Sarge mumbled something about the steel and orange merc bleeding them dry, but managed to somehow contain his overall annoyance to mostly bristling to himself about it.  It was a surprising amount of self-control on his part.  Grif was almost impressed.

“…That’s also why I called this meeting as well.” Kimball continued, “I’m not going to be forcing anyone to do so due to the potential risks involved, but it may be necessary to have soldiers on hand during the delegation in case things get _complicated_.” She frowned after that word choice, “They want the meeting to be on Level One, which means civilians will be close by.”

“So you need some people to make sure they’re on their best behavior too.” C.T. finished for her.

Kimball nodded, “I’m going to be talking to some of the people who are on patrol about it later as well, but I am hoping for some assistance from Blue Team and Red Team in particular given both of your team schedules at the moment.  Especially since Sarge won’t be attending.”

“Really?” Donut looked at his commanding officer in surprise, “Why not, Sarge?”

“Could you imagine him at a peace talk, Donut?” Grif asked before Sarge could even respond, “Even at a fake one like this one, he’d be spewing death threats.”

Sarge harrumphed at that, “Of course I would be, dirt bag!  The only diplomatic gesture I believe in is a swift boot to the ass!”

“…My point exactly.”

“Besides, Sarge is going to be busy with a new assignment.” Kimball cut in before Sarge ranted more at his chubby subordinate, “It’s one I’ve been debating about ever since Lieutenants Rogers and Cunningham were killed.”

“Right.  Rogers…and Jason.” There was an obvious sharp edge of grief in Palomo’s voice when he spoke up shakily then, and the dark skinned young man looked down quickly.  Both Kai and Donut patted his shoulders consolingly.

Rogers and Cunningham had been two other new recruits who had been assigned as roommates to Palomo or something if Grif was recalling things correctly.  They’d been the two killed in action during the last real skirmish they’d had with Above Ground.  It was around the same time that Kai had enlisted, which was one of the reasons why he had been so pissed at her for it initially.

Kimball shot Palomo a sympathetic look before continuing, “The lieutenants are not as experienced and need more training in general.  It seems like this would be a good opportunity to have them get some proper combat training from a highly experienced and capable soldier.”

“Yet you’re picking Sarge.” Grif noted sarcastically.

Anger flashed in the older man’s eyes, “Damn straight she’s picking me!” he said, oddly defensive all of a sudden despite how that was usually par the course for their back and forth bantering.

Kimball said in way of explanation and to prevent any kind of altercation, “Sarge had actually been in charge of training beginning soldiers during his days of military service in Above Ground.”

An almost pained grimace crossed over Sarge’s features at the comment, but the man in red pushed past it moments later.  He refused to acknowledge any of the questioning looks his subordinates or the other soldiers gave him.

“I prefer fighting myself these days, but I’ll take whipping these new recruits into shape over talking about feelings over a table with the enemy any day.” He grinned, “Besides, I bet by the time I’m done training them they’ll be infinitely superior to you in every way, Grif.”

Grif sighed at that, knowing he probably walked into that one by his earlier comment.

And, giving Sarge a few moments…

“Not that it would take much to be superior to you in every way, mind you.  I’m pretty sure most anything could be.” He shrugged, “A pony, for instance.”

There it was.

“If we get a pony for real this time we should put ribbons in its hair.” Caboose spoke up, having been silent before given the more serious tone of the conversation, “And feed it carrots.  I think they like carrots.”

On the plus side though, if Sarge was going to be busy training the newcomers then that meant he’d have more leisure time, so…

“And since I won’t be around to give you orders for a while and to further humiliate you on a daily basis, I’m ordering you to volunteer for these peace talk thingies.” Sarge said, his tone decisive.

_Oh, fuck it._

“Why should I do that?” Grif asked incredulously.

“Because I refuse to allow you to spend any more time lollygagging around here and being more of a pain in my ass than you usually are.” He said bluntly, “And besides…”

Sarge looked surprisingly serious as he continued, “Just because Kimball is assigning me elsewhere doesn’t mean I want her going without any Red Team representation.  You’re large enough that you can at least take a bullet or two for the war effort as a worthwhile contribution.”

Grif was annoyed by the insult, though oddly surprised that Sarge would single him out for _anything_ that he seemed that troubled by.  Even if it was for the typical reasoning of that Grif could be used as a human shield if the need arose.  That shock had him nodding his head slightly before he could really dwell on what he was doing.

“Count me in too, Sarge!” Donut said brightly.

“¿Puedo ir también? No he tenido vacaciones desde que me construiste. Esto es lo suficientemente cerca.” { _“Can I go too?  I haven't had a vacation since you built me.  This is close enough.”_ }

“Thank you, Donut.” he paused, regarding Grif oddly and managing to get out only slightly forced, “Dirt bag.”

He turned to the robot member of their team who had also spoken up after his awkward thanks, “Lopez, I’m going to need you to run double-time between here and the talks to keep me informed.”

“Pero usted ni siquiera sabe qué coño estoy diciendo!” { _“But you don't even know what the fuck I'm saying!”_ }

Lopez sounded frustrated, but it was hard to tell for certain given the electronic quality of his voice.  Sarge seemed to consider that an agreement regardless, beaming proudly at his creation.

“Thank you.” Kimball seemed genuinely touched by the sentiment.

Grif wondered if it had taken her awhile to even remotely convince Sarge this was for the best.  He did seem oddly attached to her, for some reason that neither had ever explained before.

Tucker exchanged glances with his two present teammates, the teal armored fighter clearing his throat moments later.

“Can’t really let the team with the crazy old military guy and the fatass upstage us, huh?” he joked, ignoring the grumble from Sarge that got and the extended middle finger in his general direction from his childhood friend, “You can count us in too.”

“Are you sure?” Kimball looked touched again, but rather concerned as well.  Her gaze fell on C.T. in particular, “You may run into some familiar faces.”

C.T.’s expression was schooled into a rather determined one, “I made my choice awhile ago.” She said pointedly, “I was going to have to face the consequences eventually.  Might as well be sooner rather than later.”

Briefly, Grif wondered what the odds were of seeing a certain red-headed Above Ground soldier there given Kimball’s comment.  Probably not very high, all things considered.  He was honestly not sure if he was more relieved or disappointed by that realization.

Tucker, though, surprised him by grinning and responding to Kimball’s remark to C.T., “I’m kind of hoping we’ll run into some familiar faces, actually.” His friend’s hand clenched and unclenched at his side for added emphasis, “Oh, man, payback is going to be a bitch!”

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons was a pretty high-strung, nervous individual most of the time.  Getting any sort of attention focused on him often caused him to become a blushing, stuttering wreck.

It had been the main reason why his mother had doted on him so much.  It was the main reason his father had always been so disappointed in him.

Beyond perhaps the situations where he’d been forced to interact with his father or when he’d panicked involving Grif so many months before, every other awkward, bumbling interaction in his life paled in comparison to his brain simply refusing to work at the sight of Agent Carolina standing in the open doorway of his house.

“Private Simmons.” She greeted him as if they were in a mission briefing at the Mother of Invention and not off-base.  As if this was a normal occurrence.  It wasn’t normal at all.  He didn’t even think that anyone bothered knowing where his place of residence was.

“Um…”

She raised a red eyebrow slightly, looking rather annoyed at his ineffectual response: “May I come in?”

He nodded, mutely, stepping out of the way and letting her inside.

She glanced at the décor briefly.  Most of the furniture were things his mother had picked out over the years.  They weren’t really his taste since they were a bit more on the classic, elegant side of the spectrum.  They were also certainly not his father’s taste either, but after her death Simmons couldn’t bring himself to put any of them away in storage.  Besides, his father had never been invested enough in the house in general to redecorate.

A person would probably have to be there for more than five minutes at a time for that, after all.  Simmons tried to quash the sudden bitterness that rose in his chest at the thought.

“I’m sorry to stop by when you have a day left of personal leave.”

More like forced vacation time.  Simmons hadn’t really wanted to take any time off.  But, he had known his father was no longer bothering to come home at all anymore and he couldn’t think of the house his mother had invested so much time in decorating getting dusty and disused.  So, when Doc found out about how many days of leave Simmons had been sitting on, he pushed himself to finally agree to head back for a while.  Just in order to clean and make sure everything was still working at the house.

It always hurt, coming back here after having been away for so long.  The pain still felt fresh, but it was easier to cope with it knowing that he wouldn’t be running into his dad.

He supposed that was one thing to be thankful for in regards to the Council being busy, though he wished that the reason they were so busy wasn’t because of the Slums.

…Because that just made him think of Grif, Kai, and the Resistance fighters which just made things hurt even _more_.

A year had passed and things still hadn’t fucking changed.

It was enough to get someone who just wanted the fighting to be over frustrated beyond belief.

Carolina sat down at the dining room table before he had any chance of formulating a coherent response to her comment.  She regarded Simmons expectantly.

He took the hint and quickly sat as well, facing her.

“There have been some new orders.  High priority.” She stated simply, continuing from her earlier comment, “I thought it would be best to inform you of them before you come back.”

He stared at her questioningly, finally managing to squeak out, “O—orders?”

She frowned, “The Council has been busy, especially Chairman Hargrove.  There’s going to be a peace delegation heading to the Slums soon.” She shrugged, “A few Council representatives and some bodyguards.”

“Oh.” He blinked, her words registering mere seconds later, “That—that’s good, right?” he asked hopefully, “I mean, if talks are happening then maybe—“

Maybe Grif and the others living down there would be all right after all.  Maybe he wouldn’t have nightmares of their last reunion going even worse than it had in reality anymore: seeing Grif getting killed because of what he’d done, waking up screaming and crying more times than he’d like to admit.

“I suppose it could be plausible.” She smiled bitterly, green eyes sharp, “I doubt it is so simple though.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped, dejectedly.

Right, because the Council had reasons for doing anything.  Those reasons were rarely positive when it concerned the mining colony beneath the city.

“Your team will be pulling guard duty for part of the exchange.” Carolina got to the point quickly after that, not letting him get down in the dumps for too long: “I have already informed the others.”

“U—us?” he blinked, surprised, “Isn’t...isn’t there someone more qualified for that sort of thing?  Anyone?”

The thought of Leonard Church at a diplomatic event was kind of…unsettling, to say the least.

“I’ve gotten Church’s promise to be on his best behavior.” She seemed adept at reading his mind, or more likely Simmons was just way too open with his expressions, “Besides, the guards aren’t meant to speak during the proceedings at all.”

She tapped her finger on the table in thought, “I am also going.  As is Agent Washington.”

Shit, they all had _better_ be on their best behavior then.  Carolina could be incredibly scary when angered.  He knew that much just from hearing others speaking on the subject.

Although her statement did have him thinking of something else too, and before he could stop himself he blurted out: “What about the other Freelancers?”

She glanced at him, apparently more impressed that he had asked a question on his own for once than for him perhaps overstepping his bounds.

“They won’t be attending.” Her face darkened momentarily, “At least not in any official capacity.”

Her stiffened body language basically warned him that was as much as he should attempt asking at all on the subject.

He swallowed nervously, “Yes, I—I’ll be ready, then.”

“Good.”

As she stood up, he noticed that small green flicker at her shoulder again for a moment.  He’d seen it a few times on occasion, always hovering above her shoulder before disappearing completely.  Recently, it seemed like he’d been seeing it with more frequency, but never definitively enough to make out what it was.  A trick of the light, maybe?  Although that wouldn’t explain why Simmons was seeing it in his house when the lighting here was very different from the Mother of Invention’s or why it was only ever around Carolina’s shoulder.

Simmons stared at the empty space it had previously occupied, hoping that it would somehow reappear.

Carolina noticed the concentrated look on his face, directed at the spot just above her shoulder.  She frowned slightly, her narrowed gaze focusing on Simmons’ red augmented eye.

“It’s a shame that the cybernetic project was cancelled.” She said suddenly, breaking his focus.

He blinked, embarrassed for being so out of it and so obviously caught doing something stupid.  His face was starting to burn again, right up to underneath his synthetic skin plates.

“It was supposed to help replace Project Freelancer once all of the problems in that program started cropping up, but never took off.”  She said.

Right, because the cybernetic augmentations could only improve so much.  Ability also came into play.

Soldiers like himself, who had only marginally improved after the enhancements, were considered failures since they didn’t show any drastic changes.

He remembered the look of disbelief on his father’s face when he’d seen Simmons’ mediocre results after the surgery.  It had probably been his last chance to get his father to be proud of him and it hadn’t happened.  He’d lost a lot, for a childish notion and a horrible moment of weakness in the wake of a whole lot of grief.

Carolina continued: “But I think they may have been premature, especially with the vision specs.”

Simmons blinked again, his heart frozen in his chest at the commanding officer of the Freelancers suddenly looming over him with an assessing look.

“Er…”

“Have you seen anything _else_ out of the ordinary around other people, Private Simmons?” she asked, her tone deceptively casual.

Shit, so there _was_ something there and he wasn’t just imagining it?  He wanted to ask what it was out of curiosity, but was kind of afraid to do so.  Freelancer secrets were very heavy, very dangerous ones.

“With teammates, perhaps?”

He frowned in thought at her odd question, though it was obvious she was asking seriously.

He decided to be honest, “Sh—Sheila, because she is a robot.  Electronics have a haze around them.” He explained, “Otherwise…”

Sometimes he saw those types of things with certain people.  Church mostly.  He remembered it with Tex too, oddly enough, but like hell was he going to mention her to Carolina given their history!  He was fairly certain that those times had to be malfunctions.  Other people didn’t have the same kind of glowing field that robots and other electronics had when he looked at them through his cybernetic eye, after all.

“N—not unless it needs repairing.” He finished truthfully, since he always did equate the issue with Church as something minor he probably should get fixed at some point.

If she was expecting a different response she didn’t let him know it.  Instead, she regarded him thoughtfully for a few more moments before nodding.  The gesture was more to herself than in response to what he had said.

“I see.” She moved away then, giving him a much needed chance to breathe, “Be sure to let me know if that ever changes.”

He was again curious to know what exactly she meant by that, but deemed it best not to ask given her reaction just then to him having seen… _whatever_ that was he’d seen.

Instead, he nodded shakily in understanding.

“Your father works for the Council now, doesn’t he?” Carolina asked as they made their way to door.  Perhaps she felt that she needed to go into a slightly less heavy conversation topic after what had happened given his nervousness now.  She seemed genuinely curious about this question than extremely invested in the answer, “He never mentioned the peace talks?”

He winced involuntarily, “We don’t…” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, “We don’t talk much.”

She said nothing for a long while after that.

Pausing at the door, she turned to him, “Family can be like that.” She finally said, and there was an odd look in her eyes at the comment, “Just keep focused on what you’re doing instead.”

That almost sounded like _advice_.  From Carolina, of all people!  He stood there, not really sure he had heard her correctly.

“We will have a proper mission briefing tomorrow.” She carried on as if it hadn’t happened, “Be prepared.”

“Y—yes, Agent Carolina.”

The door closed quickly behind her.

As soon as she was out of sight, his mind started to process what he’d learned.  The Council was arranging peace talks in the Slums.  His team would be going there as guards and escorts.  Which meant that maybe things weren’t as hopeless as he’d thought.

Maybe there _could_ be peace eventually.

Maybe everyone in the Slums would be safe.  Including Grif.

…If he was still alive, Simmons thought, and then he instantly hated himself for it.

Thinking like that did nothing but make things worse.

Grif _had_ to be alive still.  If he wasn’t, then…

He took a deep breath to smother down the all-too familiar surge of panic and grief he felt whenever his thoughts went down that road.  The deep breath he took whenever he woke up screaming from nightmares he couldn’t prevent from recurring.

He knew he worried way too much on things he had no control over.  It had always been that way when his thoughts concerned Grif, even right after they’d just met for the first time.

Dwelling on it certainly didn’t help matters.

At the exact moment that he was mentally berating himself, a message beeped on the computer terminal by the side of the door.

He absentmindedly clicked it on, not bothering to look at the sender’s name.

“ _FOR THE LOVE OF_ — _DOC, I DON’T CARE!”_ Church’s voice was shouting in exasperation through the terminal, _“JUST FUCKING PICK ONE!”_

 _“Church, it’s important to pick as unobtrusive a travel bag as possible to avoid upsetting anyone.  First impressions shouldn’t be used to judge others, but they_ are _still important.”_

It looked like Doc and Church were standing in the middle of the barracks, looking over an assortment of luggage pieces on the floor.  The goateed man clearly seemed to be struggling with the temptation to rip his hair out in frustration while Doc simply gazed down at the luggage choices indecisively.

Suddenly, Church glanced up and turned to the camera, scowling before his blue eyes widened in shock.

 _“Sheila, you’re filming this, aren’t you?”_ he asked in disbelief, embarrassment making its way across his face.

Her gunmetal green and gray hand flitted into view, _“I assumed Private Simmons would like to see a travel documentary to alleviate boredom.”_

 _“Simmons?”_ Church was looking at her blankly.

Ah, she was filming through her optics.  They couldn’t see him like they would have been able to if they were communicating in real time through two terminals.

“H—hey, guys.” He said weakly, his voice translating through Sheila’s helmet to their ears.

 _“Hey, Simmons!”_ Doc waved cheerfully, _“So I guess you’ve heard the news, then?”_

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

Church ran up to the camera then and probably looked odd doing so, considering he had to get up in the robot’s face in order to be as close as he appeared to be now.  He looked extremely peeved off, _“You better get your ass back here soon, nerd, or we’re going to be missing one medic when the mission starts!”_

The purple armored medic in question shook his head sadly towards their team leader’s direction, _“You know, Church, generally when someone is trying to help you organize and pack for a trip the polite thing to do is to say thank you.”_

That comment resulted in a stream of fast-paced expletives so lengthy in duration that Simmons was fairly certain Church had repeated several of the curse words and phrases at least a few times.

The red-head smiled slightly at the exchange between Doc and Church, though he knew the others couldn’t see it.

It probably _was_ for the best that the guards weren’t supposed to speak up during diplomatic proceedings, all things considered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** I apologize for how long this chapter took to finish, as I kind of think I had burned myself out a little with rushing on the last three.
> 
> Anyways, not quite as happy with how this chapter turned out in general but I usually tend to feel that way whenever I write these types of “set-up” chapters so that might just be me more than anything. XD
> 
> So, this chapter is the start of a new time-skip and I went ahead and introduced a few new characters into the fic: the lieutenants from RvB Season 12. I’d been debating about whether to include them or not, but I sort of got a few ideas on how to incorporate them into the story so I decided I’d give it a try! Hopefully I did okay with writing them and everything. Basically they will just be more secondary/support characters in this story (and, yes, there will be some implied Bitters X Matthews too since in my head I kind of refer to them as “Little Grif” and “Little Simmons” XD).
> 
> I will be explaining about how C.T. became a Resistance member later on in the story too, so no worries (I can’t give everything away just yet!). :) Oh, and Kaikaina is back and just as fun to write for as I remember her being from the earlier chapters! Have no fear, the other characters who didn’t show up in this chapter will definitely have moments in upcoming ones! For some reason, Felix was the only character with a POV other than Grif and Simmons in this chapter. Odd how that happened. XD
> 
> Next chapter will have a whole lot of stuff happening and reunions all around! :D I have a ton of ideas for what will happen in the next couple of chapters, so hopefully they won’t take too long to write. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Eleven:

The noise coming from down the hall was unmistakable.

Washington sighed loudly at the all too familiar sound of Leonard Church’s voice raised in frustration.  It was no doubt over something he thought was idiotic that the purple-armored medic on his team had said or done.  That had seemed to be Church’s routine for the mission, having started it the whole way down here from Above Ground.

Dubious as the talks were, and Washington certainly knew that better than some, the Above Grounders were supposed to be in the Slums for a mission of “peace.”  On paper, at least.

Washington tried not to roll his eyes at the use of that particular word considering what the real motivation behind the whole fiasco was. He found it was almost impossible though, particularly when even part of the bodyguard representation for Above Ground was engaged in constant yelling fits of rage.

He almost felt bad for the hotel staff here at the only real “inn” of sorts in Level One.  Already this situation was no doubt tense enough for the general populace without having to hear Church’s rants.

Although, at the moment, Washington was too lost in his own troubled thoughts to really care all that much.  For him, Church’s loud voice had simply turned into an only mildly annoying disturbance in the background.

The message Washington had received about his orders had once again been vague on purpose and reasoning.  Still, it was clear enough what the Freelancer was expected to do, which tended to be Hargrove’s habit whenever he communicated with him.

Washington was supposed to play the part of the “good little soldier” for the duration of the meetings, especially whenever Carolina was present for them.  It wouldn’t be good to rouse her suspicions anymore about those still technically serving under her command, after all.

Other Council agents were going to be actively scouring the tunnels and the Slums proper in the meantime.  They were looking for whatever it was that Chairman Malcom Hargrove was so intent on finding down here that he even set up this whole obvious farce of a diplomatic gesture.

Washington would be an idiot if he said it didn’t extremely bother him that he was still being kept in the dark.  Nothing really changed with Above Ground military though, he supposed, no matter who you worked for.  He suspected that the mercenaries and soldiers Hargrove considered more “loyal” most likely knew exactly what was going on.  Or at least had a much more concrete version of things than he did.

Such as Wyoming, who had more or less unofficially defected from Freelancer whenever he acted alone.  Not that Washington could really judge him too harshly given his own actions, though he couldn’t say he was too keen on his “teammate” all the same.

Having to work with Wyoming in any capacity was generally straining now given what had happened a year ago.  That was when Wyoming had tried killing Washington for being a “traitor” both to Freelancer and, he later realized, potentially to Hargrove.  All because Washington had talked to North for a few seconds instead of immediately putting a bullet in his friend’s brain.

His _“So sorry, chap, don’t know what came over me”_ routine afterwards wasn’t too convincing either.  But, the white-armored Freelancer hadn’t revealed to either the Council or to Carolina what had really occurred as far as he knew, so Washington didn’t have much choice but to keep a lid on it as well.

It wouldn’t do for suspicions to get raised against him either way.  Plus, Washington knew the only reason Wyoming was keeping his mouth shut.  It was because he wasn’t in a position yet where he could risk Carolina or someone else higher up in Project Freelancer knowing what he’d done.

Besides, Washington would never trust Locus or any of the members of his personal kill squad.

In fact, Locus was the main reason he had convinced a good friend to permanently leave Above Ground.  Washington realized that the steel and sage-armored mercenary had been just as aware of her involvement with the information leaks to the Resistance as he had been.

Washington might be willing to work for Hargrove at the moment for his own needs, but he refused to stand by and allow someone he had considered a teammate and friend get killed by one of the Chairman’s hired killers.  Especially just because she still had something akin to a conscience.

It was one of the reasons he hadn’t really tried fighting North either.  Though he suspected that was probably a weakness that was going to end up getting him killed at some point.  Either someone was going to turn on him like had happened already far too often, or he’d get found out about being too lenient and eventually get shot.  …Neither were outcomes he was particularly looking forward to.

All Washington could really do right now was play along and hope the whole situation didn’t screw him over anymore than it already had.

It was almost time for the Resistance leader to arrive anyways.

He sighed again.  He stepped through the doorway to make his way down to the first floor where the “talks” would be held only to lock eyes with Carolina.  She was on her way past his room.

“Ready?” she asked, voice curt as always.  Carolina had her helmet under her arm, just as he did.  He had planned on putting it on as he made his way to the stairs.

“Just about.” He inclined his head slightly, noticing after a brief moment that she wasn’t heading in the direction of the stairway that was closest to the designated conference room, “You aren’t going to be sitting in on the first round of discussions?”

“No, I figured you’d be more than enough Freelancer presence for these…” she paused.  He could see her facial muscles twitch slightly as she fought the urge to make a face while trying to come up with a term for what he knew she most likely thought was bullshit, “…initial talks.  I’ll be running perimeter sweeps.  Just in case.”

More than likely there was more to it than that, but Carolina wasn’t the most trusting person out there.  Not that she’d ever been, really, but it had gotten much worse after… _everything_.  She’d been particularly ill at ease with him since the request for this mission came listing Washington and no one else from Freelancer as requested personnel.  All around the same time as Wyoming had set up personal leave, interestingly enough.

Whether or not it was due to her competitive spirit or her suspicions about him, Washington honestly couldn’t say.  It was very likely perhaps a combination of both.

“I see.” He felt a little relieved, honestly.  Carolina was definitely scrutinizing him closely these days.  Though, if she thought he was up to something, she hadn’t yet confronted him over it.

“Private Simmons will be sitting in with you initially.” She looked at him pointedly then, her intense green stare almost burning as she tried gauging his reaction, “As was also requested by Chairman Hargrove.”

“What?” he blinked, taken aback.  Out of all the things she could have said, he had not been expecting that.  It was definitely news to him.

Washington had assumed that the only reason Florida’s former squad was there was because Carolina had brought them along given the fake nature of the talks.  Also, probably because Freelancer didn’t have too many available personnel at the moment.

“You didn’t know.” Carolina almost sounded surprised at his response.  Washington quickly realized she’d leaked the information on purpose to test him, which meant she more than likely suspected a lot more about these peace talks than Hargrove seemed to think she did, “His name was also on the requested personnel list from the Council.”

“But, why?”

It didn’t make sense, not really.  Simmons was far from a top-tier soldier.  Personally requesting any member of Florida’s squad given their less than stellar record was…

“I have my suspicions.” Carolina said quietly, promptly clamping down on saying anything else.  That basically meant she wasn’t going to reveal her thoughts to a subordinate she wasn’t convinced she could trust anymore.

Washington could understand that.  Really.  He tried reminding himself it was stupid to get even remotely upset over it given what he was actually hiding from his team leader, but the “rookie kid” part of him still felt like she’d just punched him in the gut.

“Does he know?” Washington finally managed to ask once he quelled down that inner juvenile response.

He didn’t recall Simmons being any more nervous than usual for the mission the last time he’d seen him.  Given how self-conscious the younger man usually was…

“No.” she shook her head adamantly, “As far as any of his squad knows, they’re only here because I gave the order.”

So that explained why she brought all of them along.  Only having one member would have potentially gotten Simmons curious enough to want to learn more about something he was probably better off _not_ knowing anything about.

“They’re morons and sorry excuses for soldiers, but they are under my command.” Carolina’s voice was firm, dangerous, “If Florida’s squad gets dragged even more into Hargrove’s power plays I will have something to say about it.”

A threat, then.  One that she perhaps somewhat suspected he’d pass along.

Washington nodded slightly: “Understood.”

He paused for a moment, not entirely sure of how to continue the conversation, but feeling like he should say something.  Especially given the accusatory regard Carolina was holding him in.

There were a lot of things he’d done that he wasn’t happy about, and there were probably going to be quite a few more of them when all was said and done.  But, this was definitely not one of them.  He felt as if it was important to get that across to her.  Either for their own sake as teammates ( _for all the good it had done either of them in the end_ ) or for his own given that it was another teammate’s squad also involved ( _good man, shame Florida was killed as he was_ ).

“I’ll…keep an eye on him.  The others too.  I don’t want Florida’s squad getting dragged into something either.”

That much, at least, was true.  He couldn’t be honest to Carolina about a lot of things if he wanted to finally get away from Project Freelancer’s shadow, but her revelation had put him further on edge.

Hell, he hadn’t even voiced his suspicions in regards to Church to anyone yet because he wasn’t sure of Hargrove’s intentions either.  He personally knew Simmons.  Even more than that, he rather liked the soldier.  It was never a good thing to be unknowingly scrutinized by people that cold and indifferent.

Washington had learned that the hard way, himself.  Had experienced it through Epsilon’s fractured memories before he’d even realized the full extent of how he’d been used afterwards.

“Good.  I’ll hold you to that, Wash.”  Her use of his old nickname seemed to be the most indication he would get that she accepted his words as being sincere.  He stood quietly as she turned briskly and went on her way.

_“Wash?”_

An unfamiliar female voice spoke up behind him.  He turned around, surprised to see a dark-skinned woman with bobbed dark brown hair looking at him in amusement.

He frowned at the intrusion.  Her voice seemed oddly familiar, as did the white and purple armor she was wearing.

“That’s a nickname.” He responded blankly to the teasing way she’d said “Wash” earlier, not really sure why he had to elaborate on that to a total stranger.

“Oh, I know!  You’re Agent Washington.” She exclaimed cheerily, “I just can’t picture you having such a cute sounding nickname.  …Or someone like Agent Carolina actually using it.”

He wished he’d had his helmet on then to cover the embarrassed blush that formed on his face in response.  She made it sound like “Wash” was a little kid’s name.  He tried not to think of C.T.’s annoyance at him still referring to her as ‘”Connie” and failed miserably.

“It’s not that cute.” Washington muttered lamely, knowing it was a throwback defense mechanism to when he’d been considered the “cute kid brother” of Freelancer.  He despised recalling those bittersweet memories anymore.

“Aw, no need to be shy!” The woman did not seem to get the real reason behind his discomfort, “It’s fun.  You should see the nicknames I give to some of my patients.” She then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Apparently ‘Fire Hose’ isn’t a PC name for a guy with a chronic bladder infection.  Who knew?”

“Patients?” he ignored the rather disturbing last part of what she had just said and focused on that instead.

“Yeah, I’m a doctor.” She looked at him, surprised by his reaction, “I’m here in case there’s an emergency with one of the Council members.”

“But DuFresne…”

“Is technically here in a capacity as a bodyguard along with the rest of his squad.” She frowned, “I’m not sure they’d want him actually administering emergency care to anyone.  He’s a nice guy, but his healing skills leave a lot to be desired.  Like his aloe vera treatment for gunshot wounds, for instance.  Really more fascinating to see firsthand how it leads to infection and ultimately loss of limbs than providing any _actual_ medical benefits.  Not that the infection progression isn’t exciting!”

She was still smiling brightly, but Washington felt more than just a little chill at her words.

“I guess you guys just weren’t paying attention to the non-combat personnel, huh?” her grin widened, “We traveled down here together and everything!”

Ah, so _that_ was why she seemed vaguely familiar.

“Um…” he was drawing a blank on how to actually respond to her, shrugging his shoulders slightly in apology for the oversight.

In truth, beyond casting a quick glance over the people assigned to the peace talks, he hadn’t really paid much attention to any of the people who weren’t higher up on the food chain.  It was a pretty big oversight on his part.  However, his mind had been more preoccupied with the people he knew _weren’t_ on the list, but would also be in the Slums around the same time.

Plus, it wasn’t like he was the greatest when it came to holding conversations either. He was halfway hoping maybe the doctor would get fed up with his lack of drive to continue this odd dialogue and leave.

“But, I figured as much, so I decided it would only be polite to introduce myself first before the meeting started and things got busier.”

_Damn it._   His luck really did suck!

She thrust her hand out, the beaming expression on her face seeming to get impossibly larger, “My name’s Emily Grey.  Let me know the next time you get shot.  I’ll try to get you as close to good as you’ll be getting afterwards!”

The door to one of the neighboring rooms slid open as Washington was still trying to process the bizarreness of Doctor Grey’s introduction.  She…couldn’t actually be that chipper at the potential of a comrade getting injured, could she?

Richard “Dick” Simmons exited the room in full armor sans helmet with a heavy, almost relieved-sounding sigh.  No wonder, really, as Church’s loud voice was only just muffled by the closing of the door behind him.

“Simmons.” Washington was rather relieved to see a familiar face.

The younger man had been lost in thought and he started slightly at seeing two other people in the hallway, “Oh.  Uh, hey, Agent Washington.” He squeaked out awkwardly.

It seemed Simmons wasn’t quite sure how to approach Washington anymore since the whole Epsilon incident.  On one hand, Washington was upset by that since he liked the kid.  On the other hand, he was grateful for it _because_ he liked him as well.

He’d rather anyone he used to consider remotely tolerable in the past not try to actively engage him all that much, given everything.

“Is he still going at it?” Washington asked, pointing to the closed door of the room Simmons had just exited from.

“Sort of…n—not as bad as before though.” Simmons’ voice had taken on a sheepish quality due to his nervousness, “Doc went out for a breath of fresh air and Church just wanted to vent his frustrations.”

Makes sense, he supposed, though Church’s volume could use some work.  Even if not technically on duty at the moment, any Above Ground soldier going out to explore potentially hostile areas on their own was a rather frustrating notion their teammates to have to deal with.

Washington would know.  He had caused more than his fair share of teammate hair-pulling due to his more scatter-brained tendencies when he had first joined Freelancer.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Grey spoke up conversationally from behind them, “You’d be surprised at all of the stuff DuFresne walked away from during his medic training.  His patients, well…” she shrugged, “It’s a good thing the supervisors were always there!”

“Uh…” Simmons stared at her, both unsure as to who exactly she was judging by the blank look on his face and never exactly being the best when it came to talking to women.

C.T. had joked about that once, Washington remembered.  Because of that she’d gone out of her way to befriend Simmons, just to see if it was possible.

Grey didn’t seem to notice though, continuing the conversation as if she was chatting with an old friend instead of someone who didn’t know who she was, “Though your squad leader might want to go in for some stress management courses.  You can get some really nasty side effects from too much anger.  Bleeding ulcers are one of my favorites.”

“F—favorites?” Simmons’ human green eye widened quite a bit at her statement.

“Though your squad never comes by for check-ups much, does he?” she continued on thoughtfully before fixing a pointed look at Washington, “As a matter of fact, neither do you, Agent Washington.”

“Yeah, I don’t…do clinics very well.  Or hospitals.” His hand subconsciously went to rub the back of his neck where the neural implants had been.  It was only slightly harder making out the indentations and scarring there with the combination of his gloved hand and the turtle neck of the black underclothing worn beneath their armor.

The motion wasn’t lost on either of the other two persons in the hallway.  Though, thankfully, they seemed to know better than to broach that kind of a powder keg subject.

Instead, Grey turned to Simmons once more and said appreciatively, “But you’re always pretty perfunctory with your visits to the medical facilities according to appointment logs, Private Simmons.  An accommodating patient is almost as welcome as a comatose one.” She leaned forward to confide in a whisper, “They’re the best though because they don’t argue with you at all.”

Simmons glanced questioningly at Washington, who could only shrug sympathetically.  Doctor Grey’s views on her trade were a little unnerving to say the least, despite her general eagerness towards her profession.

“I—I have to go.” He muttered lamely, “Routine checkups.”

“Because of your cybernetics, right?” she nodded sagely, “That particular project was really fascinating from a medical stance.”

Simmons said nothing, suddenly finding the floor to be rather fascinating.

Washington frowned, unsure about the soldier’s reaction.

Doctor Grey noticed it as well, suddenly looking rather apologetic, “I should’ve guessed that it would be a sore subject.  Sorry.” She leaned forward again to make sure that she had eye contact with Simmons to showcase her sincerity, “It’s kind of why I didn’t bring up you-know-what-with-you-know-who either.”

She turned her dark brown eyes to look directly at Washington when she said that last part, causing him to raise a blond eyebrow incredulously.

“And, yet, you just did.” He stated dryly.

“Not by name.” she grinned and turned back to Simmons, seemingly deciding he wasn’t going to become further upset by what she had said earlier, “Anyways, next time you’re scheduled for a maintenance check-up, I’d be your friend for life if you made a request for Doctor Grey to be able to observe it!”

Her smile was more encouraging than the teasing one she’d given to an exasperated Washington moments before, “I’ve been asking and asking, but my superiors never let me see any of the cybernetic experiments.”

“Um…” Simmons turned to Washington again, who shrugged once more.  She seemed odd, but didn’t seem to be intentionally harmful even if her viewpoints could be a bit unnerving at times.  Though that decision was ultimately up to Simmons: “S—sure, I’ll ask for next time.  But, if you requesting to observe as a doctor doesn’t do anything, I’m not sure what my asking will do.  They really don’t even let me schedule the times for the appointments or anything.”

She shrugged, “You never know, though.  Besides, if you get injured here, I’ll get to treat it and see some cybernetics in action!  I consider that a win-win for me!” She noticed the two men staring at her and looked somewhat embarrassed, “…Hoping that doesn’t happen, of course!”

“Right.” Washington sighed, “We’ll try to be grateful patients if it does occur.”

“You guys are the best!” she seemed elated at the assurance, “You know, I think this might be the longest conversation I’ve ever had with any soldiers.”

The Freelancer shook his head slightly, “I cannot imagine why.”

With a final wave goodbye, the oddly cheerful doctor took her leave.  She cast one look at the door behind Simmons as if she was debating knocking on it to introduce herself to the occupant right then and there, but apparently the continued raised voice coming from inside was enough for her to decide not to do so.

“She…seemed nice.” Simmons said hesitantly after she left, “A little eager but…Doc’s kind of the same way.”

“Here’s to hoping she can back up that enthusiasm with actual ability though.” Washington responded, deciding not to comment on the Doc comparison given everything he’d heard about the medic’s decidedly questionable skills in the medical field.

The redhead gulped nervously, “You think we’ll need medical attention on this mission?”

Washington frowned, “It’s always better to be prepared for the worst case scenario, Simmons.” He cautioned.

“R--right.” His shoulders deflated at that, “I hope we won’t have to though.”

The last part was spoken so quietly it was hard to pick up.  The Freelancer sighed in response, resisting the urge to pat the more timid soldier on the shoulder.

Looking at him, Washington remembered Carolina’s comment about Simmons and frowned once more.

Why would the Council have singled him out particularly?

Church, he could have almost understood given his own suspicions about the de facto leader of Florida’s squad.  But Simmons…

He was almost tempted to say something about it, to tell Simmons ( _warn him, maybe?_ ), but decided against it.

Washington could understand why Carolina hadn’t said anything to the maroon-armored soldier either, all things considered.

No good came from the Council being interested in you.  If Simmons didn’t know about it, it was probably best that it stayed that way.  At least for now.  Washington would look into it though, just for his own peace of mind.

“I hope so too.” He responded truthfully to Simmons instead.

The younger soldier glanced at him then, surprised, and Washington chose to act as if he had said nothing: “Come on.  We need to get ready for the first dialogue.”

*****

The atmosphere in Level One had changed quite a bit after Above Ground’s retaliation on the Slums.

That was to be expected, though.  A massacre like that was bound to have a lasting effect on people. 

Level One had been viewed as a bright spot in the community before.  The Slums were always going to be dingy, cramped, and far from ideal real estate.  Still, Level One had always had a “brighter” quality to it due to the massive amount of space overhead.  The cavern’s ceiling was high above comparatively to the ceilings of the floors underneath.

Even the lighting seemed brighter somehow.  It was more akin to what perhaps actual daylight could be like when it was working properly.  Or, at least, it was the closest thing people down here could compare to daylight since most had never actually experienced true daylight for themselves.

It didn’t happen all the time, but the lights worked certainly more on Level One than elsewhere in the Slums.  In fact, a whole lot of effort had been put into making the space feel more accommodating, less cramped.  It had been the ideal space to be at in the Slums.

The businesses had been more higher-end.  The construction of much-needed residential areas in Level One had also meant more work in general, and the larger residential areas also meant less bodies stuffed like sardines in the older lower levels.

Most people enjoyed taking trips to Level One just for the ambiance, even if they had no reason really to go.

Then all of that had changed in one single instant.

No one really wanted to be in Level One for quite some time afterwards.  There was this hesitancy that would fall whenever one even broached the subject in conversation.

Naturally, though, necessity and human survival instinct caused that to change overtime.  Grim as it was, body disposal had to be seen to.  Repairs and maintenance to the rafters continued for survival’s sake.  Construction and reconstruction being a necessary way of life for those living below the planet’s surface, after all.

So, life continued and new residential areas and businesses were built over the burned out remains of what had stood there before.  People once more began to go about their lives as they always had.

Still, the general feel of the place still had a muted quality to it compared to the vibrancy and almost hope it had held before.  Pretty much everyone in the Slums had known someone or _of_ someone who had been lost in the incident.

Smoke and fire damage was still visible on the floors, walls, and rafters or on the recycled materials that were damaged and used for things beyond fixing structures.  They couldn’t waste material, after all.  It wasn’t practical.

Remnants of destroyed buildings and objects that _still_ had yet to be removed from the area were waiting for pick up in junk lots near rebuilding sites.  There were even some faded rust colored splotches here and there that had been overlooked in the immediate cleanup near punctured points in grounds and walls that were obviously bullet holes.

Seeing those still all too constant reminders of what had happened caused wounds that always seemed to feel far too fresh to bubble inexplicably to the surface.  They made the general feel of Level One a bit different from how it had been before in subtle-if-not-overly-obvious ways.

It was getting better though.  Surely, but slowly.  The people residing in the Slums were nothing if not resilient.  They were survivors and adapters, through and through.  All-in-all, the reconstruction effort given what had happened was quite impressive.

But, still, sometimes being there in general brought back unpleasant memories.

For whatever reason, whenever Dexter Grif visited Level One now he always thought he smelled a faint trace of smoke in the air.

He knew some spots where the fires had been particularly intense still held a lingering smell of smoke to them.  Other areas not so much now that they’d been thoroughly cleaned.  The perceived smell always triggered a not-so-fun gagging reflex in him.  Even when he was breathing filtered air from within the confines of his helmet and therefore _couldn’t_ be really breathing in smoke.

It had gotten so bad that he finally just unclasped his helmet so that he wouldn’t inadvertently suffocate while wearing it.  That helped calm him down, a little bit at least, as he started taking in huge gulps of air just to refill his lungs.

Fortunately for him, if anyone noticed his initial reaction to being in the area again they were kind enough not to address it.  So he was, more or less, able to clamp down on his physical reaction in silence.

“Man, the people in charge of Above Ground are some kind of assholes, huh?” Tucker spoke up mere seconds after Grif had gotten his gasping under control, looking away to give the orange-armored soldier a chance to put his helmet back on without making a big issue over what had happened.

He had been wearing his helmet since they arrived, though it was easy enough to picture the scowl most likely plastering Lavernius Tucker’s face as he asked the question.

Just as easy as it was to picture the quizzical eyebrow lift C.T. most likely made in response, “You mean that was ever up for debate?”

The “volunteer” guards were standing in front of the building that would be serving as the location for the supposed peace talks scheduled for later that day.  It had been one of the first buildings that had been rebuilt after the attack, and arguably one of the finer-looking ones in all of the Slums.

The building had been something of a hotel of sorts, a fancier place to put your head down for the night than most people in the Slums could afford.  The place was often used for vacations or honeymoons or big celebrations whenever someone had actually managed to save up enough money for them.  There were rooms set up for business gatherings on the lower floors as well.  One of those conference rooms would be where the negotiations were supposed to occur.

Figured that the Council would pick that particular spot to hole up in while staying here.  Wouldn’t want to see how people down here usually lived, after all.

Tucker regarded his newest teammate in annoyance following her remark, “No, I mean, they just had to choose this place for their fake dialogues.  It’s bullshit.”

No argument there.  Arranging a discussion at Level One, the one spot in the Slums that was a constant reminder of what you as a military power were capable of doing if really pissed off, _was_ pretty asshole-y.

Judging by all of the unfamiliar people milling about in plain civilian clothes, but with hard eyes and hands twitching towards easily to pull out concealed weapons, the Council’s supposedly “small contingent” of guards was more than likely bullshit too.

Members of the Council in charge of Above Ground weren’t going to pointlessly risk their own lives by going to a place as unnecessary and dangerous as they often viewed the Slums.  At least not without a whole lot of guarantee that they would be well-protected.

Grif glared at one of the people looking over at them with more than passing interest, though the effect was undoubtedly lost by his helmet.  The guy promptly looked away as if he suddenly found the wall he’d been standing next to vastly more interesting than it had been mere seconds before.

_Yeah, that was real fucking subtle._

Donut put his hand under his helmet in a contemplative fashion, “Where else could we have them though?  It would be way too risky going to Above Ground, if you ask me.”

Grif harrumphed: “Besides, they wouldn’t let us up there.”

“There isn’t a ton of space in the lower levels either.  Plus, you’d have to spruce them up with paint and a few good accents!” His pink-clad teammate was completely missing the point with that last comment, though he was probably right as much as Grif would never admit it.

A lot of the lower levels _could_ use some more color beyond brown, gray, and grayer.  Or, as Grif liked to call that last one: “dirty gray.”

“They would certainly take issue with having to go any further down into the Slums as well, unfortunately.” C.T. murmured, glancing at the group before her rather apologetically for having said that about where most of them had been born.

“More than likely it’s also meant to be a reminder of what’s in store for all of us should they ever change their minds again.  Typical scare tactic.”

They all started slightly at Tex’s voice coming from behind them.  The red-haired woman was dressed in what appeared to be a plain clothes variation of her usual armor outfit.  Either that, or her entire wardrobe consisted of nothing but combat vests and boots in various shades of black just for the Hell of it.  Which was honestly quite possible, considering they never usually saw her dressed in anything but her armor.

Right.  The civilian clothes were because she, North, and York were going to also be on guard duty at times throughout the talks, but would be doing so incognito.  They were to be slipping in-and-out amongst passerby to keep a closer eye on the Above Ground soldiers who were more than likely doing the same.

Easy enough to imagine North and York doing so, but Tex not so much.  Still, she’d more than likely be able to intimidate someone into being on their best behavior either while wearing her armor or not.

“I was right.  See?” Tucker bitterly commented.  No wonder he was on edge, given what he had actually lost here, “They’re assholes.”

“Which was already pretty well-established.” The former Freelancer cut in briskly, “Anything out of the ordinary?”

“You mean beyond the guys who are clearly Above Ground military failing to act anywhere near remotely casual?” Grif asked.

She nodded.

“Not a fucking thing, then.” Tucker muttered, “We’ve been running checks around the building’s perimeters too until we’re allowed officially inside.  Nothing out of the ordinary in the area either.”

“So, at the moment, beyond violating how many guards they said they’d be potentially bringing with them, it doesn’t seem as if they’re transgressing in any other ways at this location at least.” C.T. summarized.

“Right.  But who knows if they didn’t help sneak in even more people who are now exploring other parts of the place?” Tucker shuddered slightly, “Not a pleasant concept.”

“A highly possible one though.” Tex nodded in agreement and her eyes narrowed darkly, “Even the fact that they so obviously brought more guards with them they could almost justify as being out of concern for their Council members’ safety so long as they manage to stay on their best behavior.  Which means that particular angle isn’t a strong enough leverage for Kimball to use as a counter during these discussions.”

“If these discussions are going to actually be remotely viable in the first place.” The other former Freelancer with them stated, her voice and mannerisms serious in contemplation.

Tex inclined her head slightly, still looking deep in thought.

“How about further away from this area, though—where you, North, and some of the others are patrolling?  Anything happening there?” Tucker asked, not really liking the silence they had fallen into momentarily.

She shook her head, “More of the same.  York couldn’t find anything of note in the hotel during his sweep of it the other night either.” Tex frowned, “Thankfully it seems like most of the civilians are staying out of the area unless they have to be here, which will make things easier if something _does_ occur.”

That was to be expected, especially after Kimball had arranged an information leak about what was going to happen to the various news sites and gossip mongers operating throughout the Slums.

People were understandably apprehensive at the idea of being anywhere remotely close to the Above Ground presence in Level One.  It was something the Resistance leader had been counting on to help avoid potential injury amongst the general populace.

Tex was right.  Not having to worry _as_ much about potential civilian casualties would be a big help for them.

“But we will be strengthening patrols in the mines and other levels of the Slums as soon as the talks begin.  Just in case.”

“Sounds like the best plan.  All things considered.” C.T. said quietly.

“So you morons stay on your guard here.” Tex stared pointedly at Grif, Tucker, Donut, and Caboose as she spoke.  While Lopez didn’t speak their language, apparently he counted as being competent enough by her standards to not get tossed into the group currently getting stare-down mode: “And listen to _whatever_ the fuck Kimball or myself tells you to do later on.  Got it?”

Grif muttered under his breath, “Who made you our fucking mother?” before his brain registered how stupidly dumb that was.

“…What was that?”

Tex glared at him and moved closer as though to punch him in the crotch when Tucker joked, “Dude.  You of all people should know not to say that.  I mean, isn’t your mom in a freak show or something?”

“Oh, yeah!” Donut chimed in happily, “Kaikaina said once that she was both the bearded lady and the fat lady.”

That seemed to deflate Tex’s anger somewhat, because she lowered her threatening fist and gave a smirk at the obvious embarrassment plastered all over Grif’s body language.  His embarrassment was due more though to having his balls be literally saved by Tucker and Donut, as well as his little sister ( _of all people!_ ) from his own “insert foot into mouth” tendencies than any actual truth to the statement.

“…You know that’s just something Kai says to cover up why she really left.” He said to Tucker, sighing.

His friend was grinning even though Grif couldn’t see it because of his helmet.  He was sure of it, “Yeah, but maybe there’s a little truth to it, huh?”

He’d almost prefer it if there was as well.  Would certainly be a better story to tell than that she had just decided she couldn’t be bothered with raising two kids on her own and just bailed like their father had earlier.  It was probably why Kai always told her variation of events in the first place, and why Grif never really bothered correcting her when they were growing up.

Tex rolled her eyes and glared at him for a slightly longer time.  Apparently the comments about Grif’s past had deflected her earlier annoyance enough to accept the now nervous energy he was directing at her as something of an apology.  A lucky break, that, but he _really_ shouldn’t push it anymore.  It was not good for his lower half in particular.

“Whatever.  Just be sure to take this seriously.”

“Of course.” Grif straightened his back slightly, “We don’t need you to tell us that this time.”

Since Grif wasn’t being disrespectful or dismissive this time, Tex seemed fine with his response being a little testy.  Maybe she’d just wanted confirmation that all of them knew what was at stake.  Who really knew with her?  For a moment, she continued to regard the somewhat chubby man in an almost bemused manner, “Remind me to chat with your sister more.”

He groaned and her smirk widened.  Tucker’s grin was no doubt twice as large now, as Donut followed this train of thought with a ramble on how much fun Kai was as C.T. and Caboose nodded along in agreement.  Grif was fairly certain all of them probably had ever widening smiles on their faces underneath their helmets the more that his exasperation grew.

Not that he could really blame them, he supposed.  They all needed some excuse to not be so on edge.

…He just wasn’t too keen on how often that excuse tended to be him.

When Tex finally had her fill of the orange-armored soldier’s embarrassment, she left with another warning for them to stay on guard.

After Tex left, Caboose decided to speak up.  The Resistance fighter had actually been surprisingly quiet for most of the day.  Probably because he hadn’t been really sure what they were doing, got bored, and had let his mind wander.

“I wish Freckles could be here.  He likes quiet chatting times like this.” Caboose lamented, quickly adding, “Also, he likes possibly shooting things.  Or people.”

Tucker sighed, “Caboose, we’ve been through this.  People would panic if they saw an assault droid on Level One.”

“But, that would only be because they don’t know him yet!” his teammate interjected, “Freckles just loves meeting new people.”

“You’re confusing ‘meeting’ and ‘shooting’ again, aren’t you?”

“That’s just how he says hello!” Caboose had a way too cheerful way of looking at his killer robot’s “ _shoot first, don’t bother asking_ ” tendencies.

“I think it’s swell that he’s helping with patrols.” Donut said amicably, in a bid to try to alleviate Caboose’s mood.

Grif stared at his teammate incredulously, “…You mistook ‘swell’ for another word, right?”

The younger man tapped his finger on his helmet close to where his chin would be thoughtfully, “Nope, I don’t think so!” After a moment’s pause: “Unless you mean ‘swell’ as in ‘swollen,’ in which case—“

“Por favor, deja de hablar.” _{“Please stop talking.”}_

Donut was no doubt beaming at the up-until-then-silent Lopez, “See, Lopez thinks it is great too, Caboose!”

“En serio, me gustaría ser Freckles en estos momentos. Él no tiene que aguantar esta mierda.” _{“Seriously, I wish I was Freckles right now.  He doesn’t have to put up with this shit.”}_

“I made sure Smith takes him out on extra long walks while I am not there.” Caboose told his pink-armored friend, “Hopefully he will go right to sleep for him afterwards.”

“Sure.  Because physical activity really can be a drain on a robot.” Tucker was probably on his second eye roll of this particular conversation.

“…I don’t know, Tucker, naps _are_ pretty powerful things.” Grif pointed out, “Who are we to say machines can’t enjoy them either?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He shrugged.  Maybe imagining Freckles enjoying a nap was a pretty far-fetched concept, but Grif was never one to underestimate what a well-timed rest could do for a person.  Or assault droid, in this particular case.

“Having him on patrol will certainly help keep anyone from being too conspicuous if they mean to do something in the tunnels while all of this is going on.” C.T. stated helpfully to her blue-armored teammate, apparently deciding to ignore the nap commentary from Tucker and Grif.

“So, see, Caboose?  Freckles is being helpful just where he is!” Donut told him confidently, his cheery mannerisms on display at their finest whenever he was trying to encourage someone.

Caboose seemed pleased and promptly began talking about possible picnic ideas since their being out together here on Level One made him think of picnics for some reason.  With Caboose it was best to just go with his train of thought sometimes, though by this point only Donut and Grif really paid much attention to him.

Donut because he always liked having possible suggestions for future get-togethers, and Grif because…well, picnics involved food and reclining on the ground while eating.  Fuck, he was usually apparently always on a picnic with how he usually ate!  All the while the group kept an eye on what was going on around them.

It wasn’t long after that when Kimball and Felix arrived quietly and with surprisingly little fanfare.  Though that really wasn’t Kimball’s style anyways: even though she was technically the Resistance leader, she never seemed comfortable basking in the title for some reason.  Both Kimball and Felix looked deceptively calm with their body language despite whatever they were probably really feeling.

The atmosphere became tense again very quickly as the group of assigned guards fell into their initial phase roles for what lay ahead.  The “peace talks” were about to officially commence to who knows what end exactly.

*****

“All right.  Here’s the game plan.  While the meeting is going on, Tucker and Lopez, you’ll check the hotel floors just to make sure things are still okay from York’s last inspection.” Felix said as they made their way to the meeting hall.

“They” being Kimball, Lopez, Grif, and Tucker.  The others were going to be stay outside of the hotel for the first dialogue just to make sure that the plain clothes Above Ground soldiers stayed in line.

“Roger. Suena como unas vacaciones ya.” _{“Roger.  Sounds like a vacation already.”}_

“Aw, fuckberries.” Tucker whined, “Why can’t I sit in on the first meeting too?”

“It will most likely be pointless and boring as fuck, trust me.” Felix said, pausing only a few moments before adding in sarcastically, “Also, I can barely stand interacting with you as it is.  Being confined in a room with you for hours would very likely end with me killing you, which might go badly for the peace talks.”

“It’s always a real pleasure working with you.” The teal-armored fighter muttered in response.

Oddly enough, despite how often the two bantered like that, they _did_ work well together during missions.  Felix and Tucker always seemed to get into really heated arguments despite that though, for whatever reason.

Grif figured it perhaps had to do with the two men having somewhat similar personality traits, but really not wanting to admit it.

“So, I’ll be able to sleep then?” Grif cut in hopefully, deciding it would be best for Kimball to make a professional entrance by defusing their argument.

He knew the answer would be “no” before he asked.  He wasn’t _that_ stupid, after all, but no harm in trying.  Especially if it got focus away from his two comrades sniping away at each other with verbal insults.

The orange and steel-armored mercenary sighed, “Maybe Lopez should stand in instead.”

“Claro, yo no soy más que nunca la opción de último minuto cada vez que te acuerdas de estos tipos son unos idiotas.” _{“Sure, I'm only ever the last minute option whenever you remember these guys are idiots.”}_

He was pretty sure his robotic teammate was being quite sarcastic with whatever that comment was.

“Grif will be fine.” Kimball spoke up for the first time since they’d arrived.  Beforehand, she’d seemed to be lost in thought completely.  Understandably so, given what she was about to walk into.

Upon closer scrutiny, even her armor looked a lot shinier and cleaner than Grif had ever remembered it being before.  It was obvious she was trying to show a strong, prideful side to the Resistance with the sudden interest in how her armor looked.  Usually it was always covered with the same dirt and grime as everyone else’s from operating out in the tunnels.

He wondered how much worse the circles under her eyes were now as well from when he’d last seen them.  No doubt she’d worried a ton about this meeting.

Least they could do is attend it without too much of a fuss, he supposed, given how much effort their leader was putting in.

“You can have the next meeting, if you want.” Grif offered to Tucker, “No way am I standing in there for days on end.  I _will_ fall asleep.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Tucker was grinning behind his helmet, “Getting to annoy Felix will be a perk.”

“I am going to spit in your food the next time we’re both at the mess hall.” Felix shot back quickly.

They could’ve sworn they heard Kimball chuckle a bit.

Tucker and Grif both shot each other triumphant looks before the teal-armored soldier and brown-armored robot pulled away to begin their patrols.  Both would be returning to stand outside the meeting room afterwards.

It was mere moments after that when the remaining three soldiers stepped up to the doors of the conference room designated for the event.  Two armored Above Ground soldiers stood on either side of the door.  They bowed their heads only minimally to acknowledge Kimball’s presence alone.

The doors opened wide into a well-lit, nondescript room with a large table in its center and large terminals hanging from the ceiling overhead.  It was the type of room often used for higher-end business negotiations.  Or government ones as well, Grif supposed.

Four figures were already sitting on the other side of the table, all dressed in expensive-looking business attire.  Obvious Council members even if the air of authority and power practically exuding from their straight-backed postures and their body language didn’t make it abundantly obvious that these were people used to having what they said followed.

Three of them were scowling: an older man, and two middle-aged women.  Clearly they were not any happier to be “slumming” with the leader of the Resistance than any of the Resistance members were to be here.

The other one, a middle-aged man with short, shaved graying hair, was sitting off to the side slightly apart from the not-very-eager trio.  He was smiling thinly, though it didn’t seem to quite hit his eyes.

…Which kind of made the expression really unsettling.

“You are Vanessa Kimball, correct?” he asked, a British accent lilting his words, “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

The scowling on the other Council members’ faces deepened.

“Chairman Hargrove.” Kimball’s tone was diplomatic, the epitome of neutrality.  Grif was rather impressed, she was a good actor: “It is good to finally be able to put a face to the voice.”

The smile creased the corners of his eyes slightly, but they were still emotionless, “We’re glad to see you chose to respond to the request wisely.”

Kimball didn’t rise to the bait.  If they made a fuss over the nature of the message, it would likely cause them to lose any hand they might have in this whole sham.

Instead, she simply took a seat in one of the chairs facing the Council members.  Grif took a cue from Felix and stood with his back to the wall facing into the room.  He wasn’t really looking forward to maintaining that stance for hours on end, but oh well.

After doing so, Grif turned his attention for the first time from the Council members to the two bodyguards facing them and standing in the same position as he and Felix were on the opposite side of the room.

One of them squirmed slightly.  Grif felt as if they were bearing holes into him through his armor with the look they’d just fixed him with.

The maroon armor the person was wearing was unmistakable.

He paused, an odd feeling clenching his chest.  It was weirdly reminiscent of whenever he had to struggle to breathe when either faced with large heights or the smell of smoke.

Dexter Grif had to clamp down on whatever surprised reaction he was having at seeing Simmons there as Hargrove suddenly cleared his throat.

The Chairman put his hands decisively on the table before him, “Let’s begin.  Shall we?”

*****

There was a fountain set up nearby the hotel.  It was nothing exceedingly gaudy or extravagant like one might perhaps find in public areas of Above Ground, but it had a pretty round basin with three tufts of water that would shoot up in timed intervals radiating from the center of the structure.

Every twenty minutes or so, they were joined by four small jets from the outlying sides that shot inwards at an angle.  The water plumes were timed perfectly to collide together in the center of the fountain just as the three central ones were descending, causing a small explosion of water droplets that cascaded down to where the water pooled below.

It was charming.  The type of attraction that showcased how Level One had once been a more open space than the more crowded underbelly levels of the Slums below it

C.T. made it a point to always time her perimeter walks so that she was back in time for the big display of jets.  Though what had been intended in the initial design as a comforting, soothing, wondrous gesture for those who lived here had her centering on some decidedly darker thoughts.

She narrowed her eyes, gazing through the water explosion at the Above Grounders trying to look nondescript and failing rather badly in the background.  Odd that, given how well she’d been able to hide her observances for so long.

They weren’t really doing anything, but it felt like their mere presence was a slap in the face to everything the people who called this place home had been through.

She was also well-aware of how that same thought applied to her, and she hated it.

“Hey, C.T.!”

Donut’s chipper greeting diverted her attention momentarily from her self-loathing mindset.  She tried to make sure that her gratefulness for the distraction wasn’t too obvious.

“Anything happen?” She asked.

They had been patrolling ever since Tucker and the others had gone inside, though she surmised that with Caboose it was more just having someone walking around in armor for a visual effect than actually really patrolling.  It made sense.  Caboose was extremely tall and as a result cut an imposing figure fully-armored provided he didn’t actually talk and reveal the more playful side of his personality.

“Not a thing!” Donut sounded extremely relieved, which she couldn’t blame him for as she knew he didn’t particularly like fighting, “The soldiers from Above Ground right now seem to be on their best behavior.”

She nodded.  She had a feeling that would be the case.  The Above Ground soldiers she’d seen so far had been doing a whole lot of nothing as well, beyond regarding the more obviously clad in armor and openly armed Resistance members warily.

It seemed like they really were just here to ensure the Council’s safety.

Didn’t mean that it wasn’t nerve-wracking having so many of them here.  Or that something wasn’t happening elsewhere that they just weren’t aware of yet.

“This is a nice spot!” Donut said conversationally, staring at the fountain.

“Uh-huh.” She was about to tell him that they needed to move again soon, but refrained when he started talking once more.

“I used to come here all the time with my parents, before…you know.” She winced, but Donut carried on since he hadn’t seen her reaction, “They really did a great job rebuilding the fountain.  It looks almost the same!”

“Donut.” she stopped at the younger man’s name, not quite sure what she had originally planned to say after it.

The conversation seemed an odd one to have with a young Resistance fighter who always seemed to like talking about lighter topics when given the chance.

He turned to stare at her.  She imagined the look in his brown eyes was probably an inquisitive one, “Can I ask you something?”

She glanced away for just a moment to see that the Above Ground soldiers were still doing nothing suspicious.  Then she nodded in response to Donut’s question, her throat suddenly dry.

“Did you…” he paused, taking a deep breath as if what he was about to ask was something he needed to steel himself for: “Did you really know the guy who had been in charge of the Insurrectionists?”

C.T.’s eyes widened at the straight-forward question.

She had known since she had defected that her past was a highly talked about subject amongst the Resistance members.  But, despite being there for a year, no one had worked up the nerve to talk about it directly to her face.  At times they would be passive-aggressive or awkward around her and she always suspected that she knew the reason why.  Thankfully she had yet to have a full-blown confrontation with anyone over it though.

She hadn’t expected the rather naïve Donut of all people to be so blunt on the topic.

He seemed to mistake her initial lack of response to his inquiry as anger instead of just surprise and he began to fidget awkwardly, “Ah, sorry!  It was rude of me to pry like that.” He said quickly, glancing at the ground and then at her and then back to the ground again while his body language screamed both apologetic and regret, “It’s just there are these rumors and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but sometimes people have been really rude to you and I was just—“

“Yes.” She interrupted him with the confirmation of his question in order to get him to stop fretting over whether it had been inappropriate to ask.  In truth, she was rather touched by the blonde’s concern.

Donut thankfully stopped trying to say an awkward, rushed mountain load of words in under a second and breathed.  She figured he was probably hoping for an elaboration on her response, but that he wasn’t sure it was okay to ask anymore.

“I knew him.” She sighed, wondering what the right words were to describe their past association and settling on something vague, “We were close.”

Apparently, though, Donut was a surprising master of figuring out the hidden truths behind words.  He nodded his head in perfect understanding to what she actually meant, “Oh.  Gotcha.” He said, tilting his head slightly to regard her thoughtfully after that: “But, how…?”

It made sense that he’d be curious, she supposed.  The Insurrection had been a cell of the Resistance and, up until just a little while ago, C.T. had been working as an agent of Project Freelancer.  Which meant she’d most likely been born in Above Ground.

“I had a really bad argument with my parents once.  I wasn’t sure if I could confide in any of my friends about it back then, so I was sort of in a bad place emotionally.” She smiled at the memory, though she recalled how devastating an experience it had been when she was a teenager, “I was a kid.  I just wanted to prove myself.”

_…Which had eventually led her to one of the security blocks that cut off Above Ground citizens from the rabble below.  She remembered just standing there looking at the first computer terminal: upset, scared, and determined all at once.  But, mostly overwhelmed and wanting somewhere to get away from everything._

Donut seemed to pick up on that as well, even without her having voiced it out loud.

“So you went slumming?” He said the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Understandable, really, given the Slums’ sentiment on the subject and more often than not the usual jerky teenagers who did it.

“Tried to.” Her smile became a wry one at the memory and she shook her head, “I somehow ended up getting hopelessly lost in the mines though.  Probably either used one of the wrong gates or just took a bad turn somewhere.  I honestly don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t run into him down there.”

_She remembered being close to tears and with scrapes on her legs from a fall in a darkened corridor, only to turn a corner and come into contact with a flashlight being shoved into her face.  The sudden light had promptly caused her to fall over backwards in surprise._

_He had laughed then.  A teen only a year or two older than herself, his dark hair styled into a mohawk.  Had helped her up—offering a quick apology and a joking comment about how he’d heard so much stumbling he’d thought a little kid had been lost in the tunnels.  She had gotten embarrassed thinking he was mocking her height.  That had gotten the boy even more amused and quick to correct what he’d meant._

_That had been the start of their rather bizarre friendship._

_Little Connie became much more adept at sneaking past the security gates and into the world below her own after that.  Which more than likely later on helped her become something of an infiltration specialist in her military career._

_The boy, in turn, seemed to enjoy showing the Above Ground teen just how different living down in the Slums actually was compared to the supposed reality she had always been raised to believe._

_She eventually reconciled with her parents over whatever the initial argument had been about.  It was odd how it had seemed so devastating to her at the time, but now she had trouble even recollecting what the heated fighting was even in regards to in the first place._

_Her parents always just assumed that the times she wasn’t home was just her trying to be rebellious still.  They thought that she was most likely just hanging out at friends’ homes, so they never questioned her too much._

_The only person who ever really knew where she actually went was David.  They used to tell each other everything, after all (_ she missed that now _).  While he worried about his friend back then, David always kept her secret._

_Eventually, as they got older, the friendship between herself and the young man she had met from the Slums just seemed to naturally evolve into something_ else _entirely.  She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, really.  At some point they both seemed to view the other as more than just a friend._

_There was lots of hand-holding and knowing looks happening without them really noticing at first.  The kinds of things she’d jokingly gag about whenever she saw her parents or other couples doing them when she had been younger.  Those types of gestures didn’t seem nearly as gross to her then.  Maybe that was really all the subtle change needed to indicate a new shift in a pair’s dynamic._

_Their relationship continued even after he became directly involved with the Insurrection and she with Freelancer.  That had actually been the start of her informant status for the Resistance.  She had become more and more disenfranchised with both Project Freelancer and Above Ground policy in general in regards to the mining colony._

_…They had both thought they were doing the right thing, then._

After that, well, that was the part of the story everyone seemed to already know.

“You probably won’t believe me, and I don’t expect anyone to, but he really did love this place.” It came out as a whisper, more to herself than to Donut.

The lightish red soldier said nothing, instead letting her just get out her thoughts.

“You remember the miner skirmishes awhile back?” C.T. finally asked him.

“The ones Tex said were just excuses for the military to scrounge in the mines for alien tech?” Donut was a little confused as to what that had to do with current topic.

She nodded, glad she wouldn’t have to explain that incident on top of everything else, “He had lost his father and three older siblings in it.”

_They had been with the miners who had protested when Above Ground began bombing and opening fire on them, he had told her.  He’d been only five when it happened, but he saw the lingering devastation it had left behind whenever he regarded his mother or older sister afterwards.  Or whenever he saw the relatives of his family’s coworkers._

“There was a part of him that was consumed by revenge.  Most of the other Insurrection members were people who had also extremely suffered at some point due to Above Ground.” She sighed and kicked at the ground slightly with her boot, watching as the two plain clothed Above Grounders seemed to get bored with standing there doing nothing and moved a little ways down the street to do nothing yet again: “That doesn’t change what happened later though.”

C.T. regarded the fountain for a moment longer before continuing, “Still, he loved this place.  He always spoke so proudly of having been raised here.” The three central jets of water shot up into the air, “This part of Level One was actually one of his favorite spots to just sit and talk.”

_The two of them had spent a lot of time sitting on the benches nearby, hours flying quickly before they’d have to go their separate ways once more.  Sometimes talking, sometimes just people-watching.  She remembered enjoying those moments, even when they had started talking about more serious topics._

Donut continued to say nothing.  He was probably not quite sure how to respond.

“I don’t know exactly what happened during the initial Insurrection attack on Above Ground.  As far as I knew, he had never intended for it to be as extreme as it ended up being.” She frowned, recalling their talks on the subject and still believing he hadn’t lied to her then.

_The fact that he even discussed those plans with her at all, given that she could have easily betrayed them to Above Ground and gotten everyone working under him killed by warning that the Slums residents were planning to destroy power grids all over the city, was a big indication of how much trust he placed in her.  He even asked her opinion on what to do to keep casualties at a minimum, especially with regards to the civilian population._

She forced herself to continue: “I do know that he never would have wanted what ended up happening here in retaliation for his actions either.”

In a way, perhaps it had been a kindness of sorts that he had been killed earlier in the skirmishes that followed.  Back when entry into the mining tunnels had been blocked for the fleeing Insurrection members following the attack.

She wasn’t sure she truly believed that though either.  The man she had known would have more than likely gotten himself killed in an attempt to try to correct his mistakes and take full responsibility for them.  He would probably even have tried to get pressure away from those under his command and the Slums in the process.  It was almost like he’d been cheated from the opportunity to even attempt to atone for something terrible.

Even if it was one of those things one couldn’t ever truly atone for.

“That’s why you still helped the Resistance as an informant, then?” Donut finally spoke up, his voice surprisingly quiet, “To help make up for what had happened?”

A nod in response.  She’d been an informant for the Insurrection as well.  She shared blame along with all of them for what happened even if she hadn’t been directly involved in whatever ultimately went down.  She felt as though, in a way, she had to try to make it up for both of them somehow following it.

It wasn’t something she could expect understanding or forgiveness for.  But, she suddenly felt a rather cathartic sense of relief at having finally been able to let it out into the open after all this time.

Donut whistled softly. “You know, maybe you should tell Tucker that some day.” He suggested, his voice taking on its familiar encouraging notes, “It might help you guys see more eye-to-eye.”

C.T. looked at him in surprise, grateful to hear the still friendly and helpful tone in his voice after everything she revealed but not really sure what to make of his idea, “I…don’t really see that happening anytime soon, Donut.”

Right.  Because Tucker had even more of a reason to be distrusting of her than some of the others did.  He never said anything about it to her directly, but she had been informed of that fact well enough by the passive aggressive comments made in regards to the choice of her being a member of Tucker’s team by members of the Resistance not too keen on her being there.  She was also informed of it by Kaikaina, when the younger woman was in her storytelling moods during her free time.

Often Kai would tell of seemingly improbable events from her own life.  But, in her rarer reflective moments, C.T. was surprised by how much both she and her brother had gone through given how they usually acted.  The story of what happened with Tucker and his mother was often told in Kai’s more reflective moments as well.

“You never know!  It might turn out better than you think.” If he didn’t have his helmet on, she was fairly certain she would be seeing one of his brown eyes given her the knowing wink Donut was so fond of using.

She doubted it personally, but couldn’t bring herself to curb the young man’s enthusiasm after their heart-to-heart, “I’ll think about that.” She assured him, though that wasn’t really a confirmation of anything.

“Good.” There was a definite smile in his voice now, “The tension between you guys is pretty thick, but it’s not really the good kind of tension that you write about later in your diary after it boils over.”

C.T. wasn’t sure if she wanted an elaboration of that or not.  She was pretty certain she knew what kind of tension Donut was referring to and, yes, she agreed with him that that definitely did not seem to be an issue between her and Tucker at all.  She was prevented from even asking though when Caboose bounded over excitedly, followed by a person in oddly familiar-looking purple armor who didn’t seem quite too sure about what was going on.

“Look!  I made a new friend!” Caboose called out excitedly, “He says lots of funny things.”

“Uh…” the man in the purple armor looked at all of them, his body language clearly showing his confusion.

“Caboose, you shouldn’t just latch on to people when they’re walking down the street.” Donut admonished in the type of over-acted voice one uses when they find a child with their hand reaching for a cookie jar, “That can be considered rude!”

“This one is wearing purple.  I have friends who wear all sorts of different colors!” Caboose was too energized to really dwell on Donut’s comment, “If I can collect them all, we’ll have a set.”

“Caboose…”

“Gotta catch ‘em all.” Naturally Caboose would be eager to use a quote from one of his favorite television shows airing on repeat on the internet all the time from old Earth.

“Um, I’m really sorry to barge into the conversation like this,” the stranger finally spoke up, an unsure note in his voice, “But it isn’t very polite to talk about someone when they are standing right next to you.”

“Oh, sorry!” Donut quickly dipped his head forward apologetically, “Things really can get hectic here!”

“It is pretty lively, huh?” his tone took on a friendlier, easygoing note to match the pink-armored soldier’s own, “I must say, the atmosphere really wasn’t at all what I was expecting.”

It only took a few more moments for the familiar-sounding voice to be connected to a person in C.T.’s head, “…DuFresne?”

One of Florida’s subordinates, along with Simmons.  She’d never spoken to him directly, though he seemed pleasant enough if a little quirky when she’d seen him interacting with others from a distance.  She also knew his “medic” skills were something of a joke amongst the soldiers at the Mother of Invention when she’d still been around there.

DuFresne seemed to vaguely recognize her as well, turning to face the brown-armored woman at the mention of his name.  If he was at all freaked out at being in the presence of a defected Freelancer, he was a master of hiding it.

Instead, the medic known rather dubiously as “Doc” by his peers gave her a sort-of sheepish little wave in greeting.

“Hello. You're Agent Connecticut, right?” He laughed slightly, “Wow. This really is a small world, huh?”

*****

So, patrolling all of the floors of the hotel and then backtracking through them once more just to be sure, and then having a whole lot of nothing to do afterwards?

Not exactly Tucker’s idea of a wild fun time.  Nope, his idea of a wild fun time was the type of thing videos with bad lighting and ridiculous music tracks overlaid on top of a lot of moaning contained.  That was both fun _and_ wild if one caught his drift.  _Bow-chicka-bow-wow!_

As seemed to be the case in this whole area of Level One, the Above Grounders in attendance were on their best behavior.  Not that Tucker would put it past them to be planning something behind the scenes.  Oh, no.  The talks were far too forced and convenient for that not to actually be the case.

Still, he checked every nook and cranny he could find, making a mental note to not let Donut babysit Junior for awhile until the younger Red Team member’s odd penchant for word phrasing dissipated from his brain.  After that Tucker decided to head back to the corridor containing the conference room where Kimball and the others were engaged in the first round of talks, just to check on what was going on there.

“What’s up?” he inclined his head slightly at the two white-armored Above Ground guards standing at attention there already.

They, in return, did their best to ignore him.

Lopez returned a little while later to stand at attention as well.  Tucker tried the same greeting with him just to kill some time.

“No encontré nada de interés aquí. Esto realmente va a ser como unas vacaciones.” _{“I found nothing of interest here.  This really will be like a vacation.”}_

Well, Lopez might as well have just ignored him since Tucker couldn’t understand what the fuck he was saying anyways.  At least the robot had the decency to actually respond to his inquiry though, even if for all Tucker knew he’d been talking about flying elephants or something.

He sighed, trying to remain standing at alert while not letting his thoughts wander.  He knew how important this was.  Knew how much was at stake here, after all.

Plus, he refused to give these Above Ground assholes the satisfaction of seeing how pissed off he was at them for picking this location in the first place.

His eyes narrowed at that thought, and he channeled his anger into a steadying force.

_“You there?”_

To say he was surprised when Tex’s voice came in filtered through his helmet’s comm-radio was an understatement.  He may have even jumped a little.  Though he assumed he could just cover it up by acting like he had to go to the bathroom really badly if anyone looked at him askance.  …Which they didn’t, thankfully.

Tucker glanced over at the two guards from Above Ground.  Neither of them seemed to have heard anything at all.

It was a private comm-channel then.

_“Don’t try responding!  Donut had to pull off some odd musical number to counter yelling out “Hey, Tex!” already.”_ She sounded exasperated at the recollection, and Tucker couldn’t help but grin, _“Kimball says the assholes are stalling on purpose.  Trying to drag things out.  Something is definitely going on.”_

Wow, so Kimball must be incredibly bored and frustrated if she was privately messaging people about her suspicions during the talks.

Not that they didn’t already suspect that about the real reason for the “invitation to negotiate,” besides.  But, since they weren’t willing to proceed quickly, that most likely meant whatever they really were down here for must not currently be secure to them.

_“They want to postpone the talks for a few days.”_

No wonder Tex sounded even angrier than normal.  It was frustrating enough that they’d been put in this position in the first place.  On top of that, something was going on that no one in the Resistance really had a solid grasp on yet.  It was probably maddening for someone like Tex, who always liked to have as much control of a situation as she could.

“That’s bullshit!”

Lopez and the two guards looked at Tucker and he chuckled nervously in response to his unintended outburst, “I mean…it’s bullshit that we have to stand out here!  Am I right?”

The Above Grounders promptly went back to ignoring him.  Lopez simply shook his head.

“Idiota.” _{“Idiot.”}_

Okay, even _he_ knew what that one was.  He grinned sheepishly, though he knew Lopez wouldn’t see it.

_“What did I just tell you about not talking, moron?”_

If voices could kill, he was pretty sure he’d be dead in about ten different ways now.  Even with knowing that Tex wasn’t anywhere close by, he couldn’t help but shudder slightly.

She was always pretty fucking scary when pissed.

_“Looks like you dumbasses are going to have some free time while this gets sorted out.”_ She mumbled something under her breath he couldn’t quite make out about how Kimball was perhaps a bit too soft-hearted for her own good when it came to allowing breaks for fighters before continuing more clearly, _“Try not to embarrass yourselves too much.  Though I doubt that’s possible.”_

Tex turned the radio link off abruptly, thankfully cutting off Tucker before he had the opportunity to say anything extremely dumb and suicidal in response.

He was torn between being pissed over the whole thing ( _what the actual fuck?_ ) to being rather overjoyed.  Yes, it meant a couple of days where he would have to stand at attention for hours on end with assholes.  Still, he could maybe spend some time with Junior if Kimball really was planning on allowing some time for the “volunteer” teams to take it easy.  At least giving them a break might be a way to keep frustrations over the whole annoying-as-hell situation from boiling over.  Still, Tucker was somewhat just confused over what was going on and what was actually happening.

He’d need clarification from someone who, unlike Tex, would actually explain things with legitimate answers.  Maybe Kimball could—

The door to the conference hall opened just then, and Grif came out at a surprisingly quick pace for the usually very lethargic and slow-moving man.

Tucker was about to inquire if there was a buffet somewhere in the hotel he didn’t know about as a joke since food usually motivated Grif to move like nothing else could.  But, then he saw an armored figure in maroon following his friend immediately afterwards, and his voice caught in his throat.

_Well, shit.  Guess that would do it too._

Deciding it was perhaps for the best not to get involved too quickly in married life drama, Tucker instead turned to go into the meeting room himself since Kimball and Felix hadn’t emerged yet.  He bet Kai was going to have a field day when she found out about what he saw and he would definitely ask Grif about it later regardless of what happened.  Maybe even tease him a bit too, just for old time’s sake.

Tucker was wanting even more answers now though.  Screw if the Council people were still present by this point!  He’d just have to try and ask his questions without making a big deal out of it.  He was about to enter the door only to stop short at a steel and yellow helmet staring straight at him.

“…Tucker?” Agent Washington’s voice held a very obvious note of stunned disbelief at seeing the Resistance fighter again.

Yeah, makes sense.  Tucker guessed Washington had never planned on seeing him again after the Above Grounder had given him a fucking concussion.

“¿Lo conoces?” _{“You know him?”}_

He ignored Lopez, as well as the questioning stares he was now receiving from Felix and Kimball standing near the open doorway.

His brown eyes narrowed in the Freelancer’s direction as he said in way of greeting: “It’s been awhile, asshole.”

Then Tucker was moving, his hand already balled into a fist to make up for what Washington had done before.  Caught in the moment as he was, he barely registered Felix sighing in exasperation behind the two of them.

“And, shockingly, Sarge couldn’t understand why I requested a larger payment for this job.” The mercenary said, turning to spare a sideways glance at a still very surprised Kimball.

*****

If there was one thing he knew was beyond stupid, it was always running away like this.

And yet, Grif couldn’t help it.  Every single goddamned time he ran into Simmons it was the same routine anymore.

It was fear, most likely, he knew.  Better to leave again before things got too real.  Before _he_ was left behind.

On some level, Grif almost wondered if this wasn’t some throwback to his parents abandoning him and Kai like they had.  Or maybe it was just because things always seemed to go the same way in regards to the two of them.

He didn’t know, and he thought it kind of sucked ass either way.  But, what could he do?

Grif was actually quite inwardly pleased with himself that he managed to somehow make it through the meeting without bolting or having some kind of outburst.  Even Kimball seemed somewhat surprised at that when she recognized Simmons as one of the guards, given what she knew of their history from what had happened last year.

He listened through the hours of boring talk.  Man, that Hargrove guy liked to talk: always insulting everybody, but offering very little in the way of constructive dialogue while expecting the representative of the Resistance to just nod and listen.  Grif could already tell it was most likely turning into a stall tactic even before it became so painfully obvious with the postponement suggestion the Chairman once again oh-so-graciously offered.

He tried looking anywhere but at Simmons, even when he felt Simmons’ eyes going back to him constantly throughout.  On some occasions, he’d catch the other Above Ground bodyguard and Felix casting the two of them curious looks as the leaders continued their “discussion.”

Couldn’t really look though, not at Simmons.  Because if he had, Grif probably would have done something extremely stupid.

When the postponement suggestion had been made, Kimball had once again no real choice but to agree.  The Council seemed big on this “illusion” of choice, which kind of just made it all the more dickish.  After that, Grif was out of there in a heartbeat.  He was suddenly desperate not to be in the oddly cramped feeling room for another moment, despite the fact that it was technically rather spacious.

Grif whizzed past Tucker and Lopez so fast that they really were more or less indistinct teal and brown blurs in his vision, and right out the doors of the hotel.  He also vaguely saw C.T., Donut, and Caboose by the nearby fountain display with some guy in purple.  Then he could _finally_ start to breathe a little again. 

Large big gulps of air helped somewhat dissipate the tunnel vision he’d been starting to get.  It was just like the times he smelled smoke or when he was exposed to heights now.

_Damn it._

“Grif!”

He had finally slowed down to his usual walk-jog pace, but was still technically walking when he felt a hand grip his arm and he was forcibly spun around.

Man.  A year later and Simmons still obviously didn’t fully comprehend how strong his cybernetic components made him whenever he got emotional.

Instinctively, remembering last time they’d met in a rush of unwanted memories and attached feelings, Grif tried pulling his arm away—which caused the redhead’s grip to tighten slightly.  He could feel it even through the armor, just like then.

“Damn it, Simmons.  Let go!” he yelled out in frustration, continuing to try to pull his arm free.

Anger was always better than panic, Grif felt.  Even now, it was helping to keep him grounded.

“No!”

The scrawny Above Grounder hadn’t changed any in the last year, it seemed.  The nerd Grif had become friends with so long ago was still the same anxious, oddly stubborn young man.

Grif was both disappointed and relieved to realize that.  After all, it was harder to stay mad at someone you still genuinely liked as a person.  Tired of the other’s continued unyielding grip, but sudden inability to apparently vocalize words, the tan soldier sighed.

“So, what then?” He finally got out himself, “Are you going to talk or—?”

Just as quickly, he was being pulled forward.  Despite the bulky awkwardness of the armor they were both wearing, he felt arms wrapping tight around him.  Almost suffocatingly so.

Grif blinked in surprise.  His mind was drawing a blank on how exactly to respond to another guy hugging him out in the middle of the street.

…Donut’s elated “Aww!” from somewhere in the background really didn’t help things any.

Yet, he didn’t hate it like he would have expected himself to.  It actually felt oddly nice.

Like an assurance Grif hadn’t really known he’d wanted or even needed just before then.

A part of him even wondered briefly what the gesture would feel like in civilian clothes, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“I—I’m glad you’re okay.” Simmons’ voice sounded rather watery.  It was coming from somewhere just slightly above Grif’s head given their awkward position now.  It seemed that the Above Grounder’s whole body was shaking with relief.  Grif could feel it through the embrace.

The redhead had probably been feeling awful and guilt-ridden about the whole “hostage” situation this whole time.  Especially given that he had to leave so suddenly afterwards.  It occurred to Grif just then that Simmons probably hadn’t even been sure if he’d managed to survive after all of that.  Suddenly, Grif felt rather bad too.

Simmons had acted rashly.  He could definitely be a moron sometimes when it came to social cues, but he wasn’t really an asshole.  It made total sense that Simmons would have been worried sick about a friend given that he’d ended up putting him into a rather dangerous situation.

Any residual anger Grif still felt towards Simmons faded at that realization: “Heh, careful, kiss ass.  If you cry too much in your helmet you’ll suffocate.”

His comment managed to get an almost pained sounding laugh out of Simmons through his sniffling, “I’m fairly certain that can’t happen from a design stance, Grif.”

“You’d probably know, huh?” he joked right back in response to Simmons’ attempt at using “nerd logic” in this moment, “How many times have you let loose the waterworks in there, Simmons?”

“How many times have you inhaled a cookie while wearing yours?” the pale man shot back just as quickly.  Grif was, as always, impressed by how fast the usually very timid soldier always countered his teasing.

“Fifteen times.  Maybe twenty.”

Grif didn’t even have to think too hard to come up with those numbers, since he did sometimes sneak cookies in helmet.  Sugar imbalances were nothing to laugh at!

His matter-of-fact response made Simmons laugh for real this time.  It was a good sound, coming from him. Grif was glad he got the chance to hear it again at least, “Fat ass.”

“Nerd.” He grinned back, despite the helmet concealing it from view.

Simmons quickly pulled away following that, and Grif reluctantly had to pull his own arms back too.  When had he started returning the awkward embrace?  He hadn’t even been aware of having done it at all until he had to move his arms out of Simmons’ way.

The maroon soldier shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking everywhere else _but_ at Grif then.  He seemed to be trying to work up the nerve to say something else.

“Grif, I’m—“

“Dex!  You’ll never guess who that crazy old guy gave a break too!”

The loud outburst that interrupted Simmons was followed by a figure in yellow armor running up to the two men excitedly.

Kaikaina stopped short during the middle of her jubilant greeting wave, just now realizing she’d inadvertently stumbled into a private moment of sorts between her brother and someone else.  She was apparently drawing a blank just then as she was obviously trying to figure out if she knew the person standing next to Grif.

“Kai—Kaikaina?” Simmons actually managed to stumble out a question even before the young woman could.  That didn’t happen too often, given how talkative she was.  He was looking at the sight of her wearing battle armor like Grif in shock.

Simmons hadn’t seen her since she’d been fourteen and he’d stayed with them after having helped her out of a rough spot.  It made sense he’d be more than just a little surprised at her having joined the Resistance.  It wasn’t like Grif hadn’t been either when he’d found about it, after all.

She regarded him thoughtfully for a few more seconds since he obviously knew her name.  She even took off her helmet for a second so that she could squint her brown eyes at him without obtrusion despite how he was still wearing his own helmet.  Until, finally, something about his voice clicked her brain into recognition mode.

“No way!  You’re the shy gray guy!”

Simmons groaned, having never really liked either description that Kai had used to address him with when he’d been staying at their apartment back then.  Grif couldn’t help snicker at his response, promptly earning him what he was sure was a glare that he pointedly ignored from his recently reunited friend given how quickly the maroon helmet whipped around to Grif’s direction.

Kai continued beaming at the two of them as if nothing had really changed at all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Sorry if it took a bit longer than normal to type this chapter up. I just started a new job, so I have been busy with orientation and training. This poor thing was sitting neglected in my journal for awhile before I had time to open a word document!
> 
> Anyways, some more plot happenings in this chapter: finally went more into C.T.’s past, introduced Emily Grey (who I hope I did justice to!), and had the start of the reunions. Sorry that the Tuckington one ended on such a big cliffhanger (I have plans for it, no worries!), but I hope the little Grimmons moment I managed to sneak in at the end made up for it. :)
> 
> I kind of think Emily Grey’s personality is somewhat similar to Samantha Traynor’s from _Mass Effect 3_ (Dr. Grey seems to get really excited about medical stuff in the same way that Traynor gets really excited about tech and games!). So naturally, as I was writing, Traynor kept slipping into my head when I was thinking of a physical description for Dr. Grey and that somehow ended up turning into my head canon for the character! Random, but I thought I’d mention it in case anyone was curious. :)
> 
> Working on some more character interactions in the next couple of chapters too! Going to finally start writing some Doc and Donut scenes, and orz…Sarge will definitely be having his hands full with Kaikaina and the lieutenants for awhile. XD
> 
> Also, after seeing the awesomeness that was Episode 10 of S12, I subsequently spent two days brainstorming a pretty big change in what will happen towards the end of this whole “peace talk” story arc. Hopefully it will turn out okay. :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twelve:

“Agent York!  What are you doing back here?”

In response to Lieutenant Jensen’s surprised question, York gave a small wave in greeting.  A lopsided grin was plastered on his face as he made his way over to the weapons rack where she, Lieutenant Smith, and the lieutenant with the pink trimmed armor that had also joined around the same time as Jensen were currently checking over equipment.

Despite his friendly conversations with them on occasion, York admittedly didn’t know a lot about the new recruits.  In fact, he felt somewhat bad that he had never learned the name of Jensen’s friend before others in the Resistance had given her the nickname “Volleyball” due to her love of the sport.  Now it seemed like the time had passed to ask the blond what her real name was.

The truth was, at this moment, York had just been hoping to sneak back into the base quietly to collect his thoughts.  Still, there was no point in being rude to fighters who didn’t know that and were just trying to be polite.

“It’s just ‘York’ actually, Lieutenant.” He informed Jensen.  Despite his initial goal for the day, he enjoyed the chance to interact on friendlier terms with the newer Resistance recruits.  That mindset took over pretty quickly once he got started, “I’ve long since dropped the ‘Agent’ title by coming down here.”

“It seems sort of wrong not addressing you and the others with a title though.” The girl frowned and hesitated, the expression somehow making her look even younger.

_Damn, these guys really are just kids.  Well, except maybe Smith._

“Plus, Sarge says we should always try to abide by formality.”

Smith nodded his head in agreement with Jensen, his expression rather serious.  He did seem to be more of a stickler for protocol at times than most of the other recruits, York recalled from previous encounters with him.

“Oh, yeah, Sarge is a bit more old school when it comes to that sort of thing.” York rubbed his chin thoughtfully, not really wanting to tell the lieutenants anything that might end up getting back to Sarge and biting him in the ass later.

The old guy had pretty good aim _and_ could be something of a mad scientist if he was feeling particularly mischievous.  York had seen that enough times in Sarge’s interactions with Grif to know not to push things: “Well, if it makes things easier with Sarge, you can use ‘Agent.’  But, can you do me a favor and try to limit it to only when he’s around?  It feels a bit weird to hear now.”

An enthusiastic nod from all three recruits followed.

“Yes, sir!” Jensen beamed and York couldn’t help but note the slurred “s” sounds in her response due to the retainer in her mouth.

Volleyball raised a blond eyebrow curiously at him: “Sir, you never did answer her first question.”

“I didn’t, huh?” York scratched the back of his head, regarding them with his remaining functional eye as he wondered what just to say.

In truth, he wasn’t really sure what the hell was really going on himself.  Which decidedly complicated matters a bit.

He had been patrolling Level One in his civilian clothes as per orders, making sure none of the Above Grounders that came for the talks had decided to do any questionable antics while on their visit.  That was when a message from Tex had gone through about a stall happening and that the talks were being postponed for the time being.

Then, in her usual sweet-natured way ( _yep, total sarcasm there_ ), his teammate suggested to York that he get his ass back down to base pronto.

He had a feeling Tex suspected that whatever the Council was so invested in down here to even go through this whole “pony and show” dance was most likely in the mines.  Which, of course, meant they would probably want to keep a closer look on the tunnels too.

More than likely that would mean that York would be patrolling hopefully empty tunnels soon enough.  _Fun times._   He wondered if North and Tex would be heading back soon to do the same.

Now all they really needed was to know exactly what mystery object was worth Above Ground going through all of this trouble for and they’d be gold.

“Some things came up and there was a change of plans.” York finally responded, shrugging nonchalantly and trying not to make the lieutenants nervous.

Something potentially very big and decidedly _not good_ could be well underway, but until they knew for certain what that _not good_ thing was there was no need to raise the alarm amongst the troops.

“What about the peace talks?” Smith still looked more than just a little concerned despite York’s best efforts to downplay things, though that was probably to be expected given that everyone knew the former Freelancer had been out on patrol in the Slums earlier.

“Stalled at the moment.  Things are probably going to be a little odd for awhile everywhere.”

_More like stuck in limbo, really._

Which sucked.  Big time.  It reminded York too much of those times when he had still been back in Project Freelancer.  Those times when he could sense that there was a bigger picture going on behind the scenes, but still had no real idea what was truly going on.

He definitely didn’t want any kind of repeat of what had happened back then now.  That had been York’s main reason for finally siding with Tex once he knew the full story, even though by then things had been set into motion that were far too late to stop.

Images of the last time he’d seen Carolina and Delta a year ago filled his mind.  He fought back the urge to frown in front of the Resistance members.

“I see.” Smith said quietly in response.

The three lieutenants exchanged a shared look with one another, probably drawing their own conclusions as to what the “stall” situation most likely meant.  Judging by the frowns forming on their faces, they probably weren’t thinking anything good either.

“We’ll figure out what the hell’s really going on.  Don’t worry.” York told them in as reassuring a tone as he could muster.  No need for anyone to get too stressed out at the moment by a situation they really weren’t quite sure about yet.

“You’re right, sir.  Of course.” John Smith nodded his head briefly, a sort-of smile beginning to appear on his face in response to the obvious attempt York had made at encouragement.

The two younger female lieutenants with him also seemed to relax a bit at the other man’s words, which York was more than a tad relieved for himself.

It reminded him a little bit of when he had tried giving Washington “pep talks” when the younger Freelancer had been a nervous wreck before some of his very first missions.  In those rare instances when York hadn’t just tried pulling a prank on him or teasing the poor kid to get his mind off of things, of course.

“What about you three, hmm?” York grinned again, the reminder making him decide that now some good old-natured ribbing might be beneficial in this conversation to help get their minds off more serious matters, “Weren’t you guys training with Sarge?  There’s no way he’d let you off the hook so quickly!”

Jensen smiled and York couldn’t help his grin widening.  It seemed like that little last minute plan may have just done the trick after all.

“Oh, we aren’t!  Sarge wants us to practice running weapons maintenance checks right now.”

There was an almost eager look in her brown eyes.  York suddenly remembered hearing somewhere that Katie Jensen had a bit of a knack for pretty much anything dealing with machinery builds.

“Is that so?” he asked, a little taken aback by the answer.

That actually seemed like a pretty standard training procedure, all things considered.

The brown-haired man was more surprised that Sarge’s training regimen was so seemingly _normal_ , comparatively.  Given his usual views on combat and the outlandish strategy ideas he came up with for Red Team and others, he’d kind of assumed Sarge’s training of the newer recruits would be rather different from York’s concept of typical military training.

Jensen nodded, offering a further explanation: “All of us have different assignments right now based on our current skill levels.”

There was a small smirk on Volleyball’s face as she elaborated further, “Palomo and Bitters are going through _intensive_ field drills and Matthews just finished his weapons maintenance a couple of minutes ago.”

The “intensive field drills” part was probably where most of the “crazy” York had been expecting from Sarge’s training went.  At least, that was what he was able to surmise from the blonde’s amused expression.

York almost felt bad for those two kids stuck with the field drills now.

Wait though.  Wasn’t there another lieutenant?

“What about Grif’s sister?” York asked as the identity of the person she’d left out came into his head.  He was mostly just curious and was still trying to keep the younger soldiers from drifting back to their earlier, more pessimistic conversation.

“Special assignment.” Smith said in way of answering.  The trying-not-to-look-too-amused expression on the man’s face at his own choice of wording definitely said that there was more to it than that.  York assumed that it probably involved a funny story, if nothing else.

Jensen lowered her voice to a whisper despite how the four of them were the only ones in that particular room, “The two got into a yelling match so loud that Sarge finally had enough and said Kai should practice scouting by finding her—” Jensen paused here for effect and had a concentrated look on her face as she attempted an admirable Sarge impression, “ _’good for nothin’ brother’_ and Lopez.”

“She’s supposed to return with Lopez so he can report to Sarge in a few hours.” The other young woman explained afterwards, smiling slightly at her friend’s attempt to mimic their current commanding officer. 

Smith just shook his head.  He seemed to find Jensen’s imitation humorous given the slight glimmer of mirth in his blue eyes, but it seemed he didn’t want to encourage the behavior too much in case Sarge or someone else might find it disrespectful.

York thought about it for a moment. Kaikaina was a native Slums resident, so she would have no trouble locating the “volunteer” guards in under an hour max once she got back to the city.

Realization hit him and he smirked slightly, “So Sarge just wanted a little break, huh?”

“More than likely.” There was a mischievous glint in Smith’s eyes, “But, the sergeant is actually a very good judge of skills, regardless.  What Kaikaina might be lacking in terms of combat ability, she more than makes up for in scouting.”

Jensen nodded her head in agreement, “She’s great at finding stuff no matter where it is and surviving really tough things!  Sarge’s mouth almost wouldn’t shut when she got through both his scavenger hunt and obstacle course sessions with new records.” She sounded in awe of that herself.

“They were quite impressive displays.” The older lieutenant agreed, though he followed up the praise with a somewhat disapproving frown, “Though her _‘Suck on that, old man!’_ remarks afterwards weren’t very respectful.”

“That’s just Kaikaina being Kaikaina though.” Volleyball said in way of explanation, though Smith didn’t seem all that convinced it was appropriate behavior.

Geez, no wonder Sarge had decided she needed to train her scouting skills away from base for awhile.  Grif’s little sister could certainly be a handful apparently.

York smiled slightly at the enthusiasm the trio displayed now that the conversation went into their training.  Despite his sometimes extremely unorthodox behavior he often displayed, it seemed as if perhaps Kimball hadn’t been so far off the mark with having Sarge train the lieutenants from the sound of things.  Especially if he was having them actually think about their potential and capabilities on the field more.

Though thinking of Sarge did have York starting to wonder if perhaps he shouldn’t try to slip away.  At least until he received more information from Tex in regards to how they would be approaching things now.

“Where is Sarge, by the way?” York finally asked the lieutenants, interrupting the discussion they had started amongst themselves about their favorite parts of the obstacle course they had apparently gone through earlier, “I should probably tell him what is going on while I’m here.”

*****

“You know, this is kind of fun!  Once the sharp, shooting pain everywhere in your body stops bothering you!”

That oddly cheerful sentiment given what they had just gone through caused Bitters to groan in exasperation towards the general vicinity of his perky teammate.

“Shut the fuck up, Palomo.” He stated through clenched teeth.

He didn’t even have the energy to put as much vehemence into the insult as he usually did when annoyed by the private.  Though perhaps it really wasn’t so much an insult anymore as it had just become an odd habit amongst longtime friends now.

The two young men were both sitting on the floor, practically struggling to breathe.  Bitters’ whole body ached, which was probably not at all shocking considering the grueling workout they had just been through.

He had seriously lost count at some point of just how many exercises they had gone through.  He knew the last ones had been sit-ups, but everything before became one terrifying blur he was bound to have nightmares of for a long while to come.

“Look alive, ladies!” The gruff voice behind the last several hours of pure torture rang out from somewhere to their immediate left, but Bitters was too tired to really turn his head in that direction, “You get ten more minutes for siesta, then you’re back at it!  That obstacle course won’t run itself again.”

He groaned at the almost manic joy in the older soldier’s voice.  He was pretty certain all of those horror stories Captain Grif had told them about being on Red Team with Sarge were probably true now given what he’d just gone through.

“Why do we have to do that again?” Palomo asked innocently from nearby, seemingly in still far too energetic of spirits for the amount of exercise they’d just done.

Sarge sighed in recollection, “Because the first time you attempted it, son, you somehow inexplicably managed to knock yourself out for five minutes in the moat and Grif’s sister had to rescue you.”

“Oh, yeah!” The dark-skinned lieutenant grinned at the memory, though he sighed moments later, “I wish either her or Jensen had given me mouth-to-mouth.  Though I guess it’s good that we know Smith is trained in CPR, huh?”

Well, at least his friend could somehow still look on the bright side of that particularly embarrassing scenario.  Bitters supposed he’d have to fill the poor guy in on how the girls had taken pictures of the whole thing to threaten him with the next time he did something annoying to them.

He knew they wouldn’t really post them anywhere because they all really liked Smith and wouldn’t want to embarrass him for doing his job, but it was a rather devious way to blackmail Palomo since he probably wouldn’t realize that himself.

On second thought, it might just be more amusing to see how the whole thing played out instead of making any commentary on it to his friend.

“I think you missed the point of that entirely, Private.” Sarge sighed, “There was nothing in the water that should have knocked you out smack dab in the middle of it!”

Yeah, that was another thing Bitters was still having a hard time wrapping his head around: how did the person who was more or less second-in-command of the Resistance build an obstacle course with moving platforms and a fucking moat of all things?  It didn’t seem remotely possible given the resources available here.  He could have sworn he’d even walked by this space a dozen times before and had _never_ seen construction going on.

Maybe those bizarre rumors about Sarge knowing how to create rather realistic holograms were true, but it was still way too hard to believe given how he couldn’t even make a robot that could speak English.

“But, I thought a fish was trying to bite me somewhere _sensitive_.”

Oh, that did it.  Bitters was going to have to find some kind of industrial strength cleaner to wipe his brain clean of this whole thing.

Sarge seemed to be thinking in a similar vein for once as the expression on his face was a blank one, “Son, there were no fish in the moat.  Though I did debate putting an electric current through it at one point.” He laughed then, “That really gets the blood boiling!”

The man in red armor turned to where Bitters was struggling to breathe on the floor, “Mr. Couldn’t-Pick-A-Dang-Color-For-His-Hair here has to run it again because he tried skipping out on it the first time.”

Bitters didn’t even bother responding.  For starters, it _wasn’t_ that he had been indecisive about the hair dye colors he wanted to use for his hair.  He just hadn’t been paying too much attention to bottles one day in the shower and it sort of happened accidentally.  He just never cared enough to try to correct it.  That was a big difference there!

Secondly, in his book, going “around” an obstacle course was just as valid a way to complete it as actually running through one was.

“I shoulda known you’d be trouble since you’re wearing orange, Bitters.  It’s the laziest of all colors!” Sarge sighed, shaking his head sadly, “All the potential in the world can be had by those who wear that color and it always goes to waste.”

He turned his back to them at that point, lost in his own thoughts, “Lazy dirtbag.  Better not be messing things up out there.”

“Okay.  Something tells me that last part wasn’t directed at you, Bitters.” Palomo stage-whispered to him as Sarge continued on ranting to himself while somehow sounding both worried and frustrated at the same time.

Bitters raised an eyebrow, “You think?” he asked sarcastically.

Matthews picked this moment to speak up for the first time.  The other lieutenant had shown up earlier after finishing his weapons maintenance drills and had been watching quietly while the two other men finished their exercises.  Matthews had looked as if he’d been debating wanting to speak since Sarge had first begun talking to Bitters and Palomo during their rest.

“Oh, um…could I run the obstacle course again too, Sarge?” he asked hopefully, “I wasn’t too thrilled with my first attempt.”

In fairness, _most_ of the lieutenants hadn’t done great on the obstacle course.

Kaikaina had surprised everyone by doing the best and then kind of outdid herself by subsequently rescuing Palomo after his failed attempt.  She surpassed even Sarge’s admittedly low expectations given what he generally thought of the capabilities of her chubbier older brother, though he was quick to remark on how she definitely had a “Grif attitude” when she did her victory cry.  It had been a variation of the same one she’d used before on the odd scavenger hunt he’d had them complete as a team earlier throughout the base.

Smith hadn’t done too badly either following her.  Then again, the man was built like a fucking tank and could dodge Freckles’ aim with shocking ease, so that was perhaps to be expected.

Jensen’s friend-who-Bitters-really-should-try-to-remember-the-name-of-one-of-these-days did pretty well also.  Kind of funny story about her name, actually: somehow in the introductions for the new Resistance recruits, her name got overlooked leading to both the new and old fighters giving her the random nickname of “Volleyball” because of her favorite pastime.  Instead of getting really pissed off, Volleyball decided to wear the nickname with pride and even managed to convince Jensen not to tell anyone else what her real name was.

Although Bitters somewhat suspected now she was going along with the nickname for her own personal amusement.  It seemed to be a way for the girl to have a little fun at the expense of all of the Resistance members like himself who were now too embarrassed to ask her what her real name was after so many months.

Still, considering that she happened to be pretty physically active in general due to her interest in sports when not on duty, it wasn’t all that surprising when Volleyball did well on the obstacle course. 

Rounding out the lower tier of the lieutenants who classified as obstacle course finishers were Jensen and Matthews.

Again, not surprising, really.  Jensen wasn’t as into sports as her friend was, but she made up for it with brainpower.  She didn’t finish the course in great time, but she’d managed to figure out the layout of the obstacles from observing everyone else and had gotten through it with minimal damage.

As for Matthews, well, he _tried_.  Bitters was honestly impressed the other young man had made it through the course at all, though he wondered how many bruises his teammate had gotten doing so given that he hadn’t been as quick with timing when to move as Jensen had been.

Not that Matthews couldn’t have done it under different circumstances.  His analytical skills were quite good, but the auburn-haired fighter tended to get stupidly self-conscious in front of authority figures which usually resulted in slightly more negative performances all around.

Matthews was the total opposite of himself in that regard, as Bitters would often just do whatever he felt like doing regardless of the situation or the consequences.  Though, in hindsight given what he’d just gone through, Bitters was regretting that slightly now.

Yet, here the dumb kid was, volunteering to do the whole thing over again despite all of that.  It really blew Bitters’ mind.

If Matthews got knocked flat on his ass this time around, he wasn’t going to try to help at all.  Helping his friend get to the medics after he had pushed himself too hard in the past had probably only encouraged Matthews to continue doing dumb things.

“Suck up.” Bitters muttered under his breath, actually feeling more annoyed at Matthews just then instead of for having just been put through the ringer for some reason.

Matthews apparently heard him though despite the low volume.  He saw Matthews’ face contort into his you-just-kicked-a-puppy look while staring directly at him.  Bitters decided to pointedly look away just then.

However, that action had him staring directly into Palomo’s brown eyes as his childhood pal looked at him reproachfully.

“ _Dude_.” His friend enunciated the word to an annoying level to really make his point hit home, “That was harsh.”

“Like you’re even going to finish it this time either!” Bitters shot back.

Palomo winced: “Harsher.”

Bitters sighed, suddenly finding the ground he was sitting on utterly fascinating.

He was probably just testy because Sarge was insane and he was sore all over as a result.  He’d apologize to both of them later.

Sarge frowned at the exchanges, though for whatever reason he chose to not comment on them directly.  Instead, he regarded Matthews appreciatively for his earlier query, “Excellent suggestion, Matthews.  I was planning on having everyone try the obstacle course again later, but I’m glad someone had the initiative to suggest it themselves!”

Matthews beamed at the praise, and Bitters knew that now there’d be no way he wouldn’t attempt the course again.  He was very predictable that way.

“So, there aren’t fish, right?” Palomo whispered to Bitters then, a worried tone in his voice, “I kind of freaked out thinking I was stepping on them before too.”

Bitters sighed again.  He was surprised by how quickly he had become resigned to this new routine and secretly thankful that at least it seemed like Palomo had gotten over pretty quickly any hurt feelings from his earlier comment, “Yeah, Palomo, there really aren’t any fish to worry about.”

“Hey, Sarge.  I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Perhaps thankfully for Bitters then as he was not looking forward to his ten minutes of rest time being over soon, they were saved for the time being by the sudden arrival of a tan-armored former Above Ground soldier.  The other lieutenants, save Kaikaina as she was still on her “scouting” mission, filing into the room Sarge had designated as their training hall in the base after him.

Sarge looked just as surprised as Bitters was thankful for the intrusion, “Depends on why you’re here.  If it’s just to shoot the breeze and have a hippie love fest, then yes.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, a frown developing on his weathered features, “But, if something’s happened—”

“Let these guys have a rest for a moment and I’ll fill you in, though I’m sure you’ll hear about it from Kimball directly later.  I bet you’re running them ragged.” York shot a sympathetic smile at the two young men in particular who were still on the ground.

Sarge then gave a quick order to re-coop for thirty more minutes since everyone was apparently done with their assigned tasks, which Bitters was more than just a tad relieved for.

Both Sarge and York went out into the corridor again, their body language tense.  All eyes followed the two men as they discussed something quietly amongst themselves.  Seeing Sarge’s sudden aggressive outbursts that were always quickly followed by York holding up his hands in a placating gesture and the grimace plastered on the old soldier’s face, it was obvious that whatever he was hearing from the former Freelancer wasn’t sitting well with him.

“What happened?” Palomo asked, voice sounding oddly quiet and nervous for his usual way-too-carefree attitude.

Bitters wondered if his friend was thinking of Rogers and Cunningham again given how serious everyone had been for awhile after they had died, though he wasn’t sure if it would be right to ask.

“Not sure.” Jensen responded, her own voice sounding small as she watched the two more experienced soldiers talking, “But something happened with those peace talks.”

“A stall of some kind.” Smith said in way of further elaboration, though it really wasn’t all that helpful either.  Then again, judging by their troubled expressions, Bitters figured that was probably all they really knew at the moment.

A heavy silence fell over the group.  The whole negotiation situation had been sketchy from the get-go, and this apparently just added a whole new layer.

Who knew what the end result would be?  It was definitely more than just a little unsettling to think about.

Suddenly, training didn’t seem to be as terrible an idea to Bitters as it had been moments before.

“Here.”

Bitters blinked at the sudden intrusion of a water bottle in his line of vision.

Matthews was awkwardly fidgeting behind it with each passing second it took for the other lieutenant to take the proffered beverage.

“I—I got one for you…and Palomo.” He shrugged, face red in embarrassment, “Figured you guys might need it.”

Bitters saw the aforementioned dark skinned lieutenant already chugging his water down while their other three comrades chided him.  They were trying to explain that drinking the water too fast was more than likely going to result in his getting a nasty cramp later when break was officially over.

Yeah, the odds were pretty good that Palomo wasn’t going to be finishing the course anytime soon.

“Thanks.” Bitters took the bottle gratefully, and Matthews nodded in return before holding out a hand to help the other lieutenant up.

The effort caused Bitters to groan again, his whole body protesting moving so much.  Matthews had a surprisingly good grip though.  He managed to successfully keep Bitters from falling back down as the orange-wearing lieutenant struggled to stand and put all of his weight again on his feet.

The second he was finally up for good, their hands dropped to their sides and Matthews was heading over to the others while Bitters took full advantage of the wonderful beverage he now had time to savor.  He noted that water _never_ tasted as good as it did just then normally as he watched his friends conversing.

Yeah, Bitters decided, training right now seemed like a good idea given how they didn’t know what was going to happen in the near future.  He’d even actually do the damn obstacle course this time without complaining too much if everyone else was going to try to do it too.

After all, they were in this together.

Hell, if Matthews ended up getting hurt doing it again, Bitters suspected that he would still probably be walking him to the medics anyways despite his annoyance at the thought of having to do so earlier.

Though Bitters knew he’d draw the line at hauling Palomo out of the moat and giving him mouth-to-mouth if his friend somehow managed to pass out in it again while trying to avoid getting bitten by imaginary fish.

That was more of a Smith job now that everyone knew he could do CPR.

*****

There was one thing that Tucker found out very quickly after throwing that punch at Agent Washington.  He learned that when Washington wasn’t distracted by things going on around him like dealing with former teammates or double agents with British accents he was still technically fighting with trying to take him out along with Resistance fighters, the fucker was _fast_.

Tucker didn’t even remotely make contact as the space that had been previously occupied by the Above Grounder’s helmeted head was suddenly filled with nothing save for empty air.  His fist did very little to it in the grand scheme of things.

Instead, a gloved hand wrapped tightly around Tucker’s fist and his personal space bubble was very much violated by a body in steel and yellow armor stepping into it.  Washington forced the fist he gripped down into a pretty harmless trapped position close to his own chest in the process.

Fuck.  That was a classic disabling move for hand-to-hand combat and Tucker had walked right into it.

Maybe there _was_ something to be said for all of the commentary he got from his peers about how he rushed into things too quickly.

Though it usually worked in Tucker’s favor in other instances, so it was kind of fifty-fifty all in all.

Still, he tried glaring angrily through his helmet at the Freelancer all the same.

The downward tilt of Washington’s visor in his direction seemed to indicate that he was doing more or less the same.

Though the Above Grounder only did so for a few seconds before glancing quickly around them at the surprised reactions of the others in the area.  His body language suddenly went rigid.

“Why, yes, Tucker…” when Washington spoke up again, it was in a loud, rather obviously fake conversational tone, “I _can_ show you where the closest restroom is!”

Tucker was about to either tell the older man to fuck off or ask if he had lost his mind.  He was also alternatively trying to fight the urge to raise an eyebrow and joke about how awkward that whole effort on Washington’s part had been to watch.

But, then he noticed out of the corner of his eye the white-armored Above Ground bodyguards relaxing somewhat from the startled positions they had taken during his initial run at Washington.  They even lowered their weapons minimally.

Shit.  Tucker really had almost messed things up!  It frustrated him to realize that the Freelancer had been covering for him just then, though he knew from the angle the guns had been pointed at him from that things would have been a hell of a lot worse otherwise.

He sighed, forcing a fake cheery note into his voice to cover up his initial actions and to go on with the silly ass charade Washington had set up.  Only he did a better acting job with it, all things considered—Lavernius Tucker knew how to put on a good show ( _damn right!_ ): “Gee, thanks, Agent Washington.  You know how cranky I get when I have to take a leak.”

He’d just play it off like they were somehow old acquaintances and that he was just a guy with one hell of a weak bladder.  Embarrassing as all fuck, sure, but better than ruining the “peace talks” by making the other members of the Resistance look worse from association with him.

“That is…a gross understatement.”

Of course.  Washington was just annoyed enough to want to get one more jab in as he nodded to a very confused-looking Kimball and the uptight looking people in the room behind her before tugging the Resistance fighter down the corridor quickly afterwards.  Tucker supposed it was to show him a restroom to go along with the fiction they just set up.

Lopez merely shook his head after them.  He was pretty certain that the robot was calling Tucker an idiot in Spanish again in his mechanical head more than likely given the display.  Which, admittedly, Tucker probably deserved at that point.

For all Tucker knew, the Freelancer was probably dragging him off somewhere just to murder him given the very obvious anger visible in his body language.  It was admittedly odd thinking that while remembering when Washington had held his hand in a rather vice-like grip too a year ago, though Tucker certainly wasn’t going to joke about it now like he did then given what had just happened.

This time though, after they had rounded a few corners in the hotel and made it to a stairwell, the Freelancer wheeled around on him incredulously and dropped his grip on Tucker’s hand without any kind of prompting or teasing from the teal-armored fighter.

“ _Seriously_ , Tucker?” his voice carried a chiding, exasperated note in it, “Words are literally failing me right now.”

Tucker frowned, feeling rather embarrassed himself and really not wanting any angry tirades from the guy who had probably just saved his ass…again, he begrudgingly admitted to himself.  Though he was still annoyed at how Washington had done that before, “Look, I know it was stupid.  All right?”

“Stupid doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Even with his helmet on, one could tell that Washington was very readily livid.  With how his body was twitching, he was most likely one second away from starting to pace in the stairwell, “Do you realize what could have happened if someone thought you had been threatening one of the Council members?”

Tucker was beyond frustrated too by this point: he knew that well enough without having _Washington_ of all people spelling it out for him.  If something had happened, then it would have all been on him.

He was well aware that he had definitely messed up.

“Yes, okay!” he shouted right back at the Above Ground soldier, “I could have fucked everything up.  They could have blamed Kimball and the Resistance—they could have killed everyone this time.  _I fucked up!_ ”

Flashes of his mom, of Junior, of Grif, of Kai, of Caboose, of everyone he knew in the Slums and in the Resistance had come rushing into his mind just then and Tucker wanted to kick himself for having been that stupidly reckless.

Perhaps the genuine pain that ripped through his voice at that last part was enough to halt some of Washington’s ire because the Freelancer glanced at him once more and sighed, seeming to deflate somewhat after Tucker’s outburst.

“At least you didn’t draw your sword or pull a gun on me,” He mumbled wryly, “That would have been a lot harder to try to explain away with so flimsy an excuse.”

“Tell me about it.” Things seemed to have settled into a more tolerant pace for both of them and Tucker raised an eyebrow, “A bathroom question?  Really?”

“I wasn’t expecting an idiot to try to punch me.” Washington shrugged, “Be thankful I didn’t just say something about you being touched in the head.”

“Gee, thanks.” He muttered sarcastically.  Though, given what had actually happened, he added in a few seconds later, “Well, as annoying as it is to admit it, I do kind of mean it this time.”

“Kind of?” the other man was regarding him incredulously.

Tucker shrugged, “Well, I _was_ trying to get you back for giving me a fucking concussion last time.”

“I was saving your life!” the Freelancer sputtered out, his frustration evidently building again, “The other Freelancer there would have killed you.”

“You could have just _told_ me to stay hidden, dumbass!” Tucker shot back, “Or did just thinking about it like a normal person not even cross your mind?”

There was a brief pause and the Freelancer pointedly looked in the opposite direction of where Tucker was standing.

The Resistance fighter felt like his eyes were going to bulge out of his skull, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He said incredulously, realization sinking in: “It honestly never crossed your mind.”

He would have loved to have seen the embarrassed look on the Freelancer’s face up close and personal, because the rather uncomfortable body language he was displaying only showed so much.

“There was no time to really think things through.” He tried explaining rather lamely.

“Bullshit.” Tucker snorted in disbelief.

“Besides,” and Washington straightened his back then, more than just a little annoyed by Tucker’s commentary himself, “Would you have actually listened to me in the first place if I told you to stay quiet and hidden?”

Tucker was about to respond back with something snarky, but stopped and thought about the question for a moment.

Yeah, okay.  Tucker didn’t have the best track record with listening sometimes and he hadn’t been completely trusting of the Freelancer given everything to begin with so…

“I don’t know.  Maybe.” He muttered half-heartedly, not entirely sure himself but not wanting to give Washington the full satisfaction of knowing that.

“Maybe.” Washington repeated the word disbelievingly, letting out a long-suffering sigh in the process, “South isn’t like me, Tucker.  If she had known you were there, you’d have been dead.”

There was a definite sharp edge to Washington’s tone as he added after a moment’s pause: “I probably would have been right behind you too.”

“South?”  The name was oddly familiar, despite Tucker having just heard it.

“North’s sister.  Ask him if you want any more details.” Washington dismissed the question pretty quickly, apparently not wanting to have a discussion on either his past or present teammates, “I wasn’t about to take any chances.”

“Whatever.” The Resistance soldier shrugged his shoulders, still angry but with a lot less energy behind the emotion now that they had talked some about it, “It was still a dick move.”

“I never said it wasn’t.” Washington regarded him curiously, “But trying to punch someone exiting a peace talk isn’t?”

“Oh, shove it.” Tucker felt his cheeks heat up slightly at the reminder of his earlier foolishness.

Washington let it slide for all of two minutes, a surprising note of amusement clinging to his voice when he finally spoke up once more, “Now you owe me again.”

The teal-armored fighter groaned, suddenly wanting to bang his head against a wall.

He was saved from having to respond to the smug comment by rapidly approaching footsteps as a certain rather pissed off looking mercenary in steel and orange armor came into view.  Lopez and Kimball were close behind him.

“What the hell, Tucker?” Felix demanded angrily, looking for all the world as if he wanted to throttle him and knew just where to hide the body afterwards.

*****

There were only two things at the moment that Leonard Church knew with much certainty.

The first thing he knew?  Cousin or not, Carolina was probably something of a sadist.  Dragging _him_ of all people to obviously sham negotiations was pretty laughable at best.  Church had no patience for the stupidity of others in general.  He had even less for when it was faked stupidity for reasons that probably fell far too much into a “the less-you-know-the-better” spectrum.

Dragging his whole team along and having Church share a fucking room with Frank DuFresne of all people on top of that—well, clearly, Carolina had a much more twisted sense of humor than he often gave her credit for.

Church could deal with Sheila just fine as they had always gotten along well somehow.  Simmons you could usually get to shut up if you just said something to make him feel awkward, which was admittedly pretty easy to do given how low the cyborg’s self-esteem tended to be.

But, _Doc_?  Seriously?

Church could only take so many “calming suggestions” and so much annoyingly cheery small talk before he was trying to jimmy open a goddamned window to either toss his purple-armored teammate through or jump out of himself.

Then, to make all of that somehow even worse, _of course_ Doc would want to go sightseeing!  Because his teammate was horribly oblivious to the myriad of countless reasons as to why that would be an extremely _bad idea_ at the moment.

The medic annoyed Church to no end, sure, but that didn’t mean the cobalt-armored acting C.O. really wanted his teammate to get killed or anything.

Though he would never, _ever_ admit that to Doc because the bespectacled man would probably try to hug him and say something along the lines of _“Aw, I knew you cared, buddy!”_ and then Church would honestly have no choice _beyond_ killing him himself.

Generally speaking, he figured hiding bodies and having to explain what had happened to the rest of their team and to Carolina would be even _more_ of a pain in the ass to deal with, so it was probably best to avoid that whole scenario all together.

The second thing he knew?  Carolina was also making no fucking sense whatsoever with her decisions right now because she ordered all of them to attend these pointless talks only to then go off on her own to do—well, he honestly didn’t know _what_ she was up to at the moment.

The ever-present sarcastic side of Church’s personality wanted to call it “sightseeing” just because he was annoyed, but he knew well enough that was probably about as far from what she was doing as possible.

After all, a damn kickass Freelancer agent wouldn’t know how to relax even if ordered to do so.

Church knew well enough that something was going on behind the scenes of these “talks” and that Carolina most likely knew a hell of a lot more about it than she was letting on.  But, her whole “stubborn I’ll-do-everything-myself-now” attitude meant that she would be keeping them in the dark over whatever her suspicions were for as long as she was able.

She and Tex had a hell of a lot in common in that department.  Not that he would _ever_ say that out loud for obvious health reasons.

The only way Carolina keeping an obviously huge secret from him could piss him off more is if he really cared a ton one or way or the other about what was going on.  At least that’s what he kept telling himself to keep from really getting even more fed up with the whole situation as he continued muttering annoyances under his breath.

“You already said _‘driving me up a goddamned wall’_ twice, Church.” Sheila supplied helpfully from where she was standing near the door, clearly more amused than a robot should be at her teammate’s expense.

He sighed and turned to glare at her, “Oh, don’t start with me right now, Sheila.”

His response lacked the usual bitterness and venom a similar comment to someone else might have.

Church usually never got _too_ snarky when it came to talking to Sheila.  He always assumed it was because he had just learned to play it safe around her since she used to be installed inside a tank and he hadn’t really wanted to become a pile of bloody goo by pissing her off.  It must have just turned into a habit afterwards without him realizing it.

Then again, he _had_ dated Tex and had no problem calling her a bitch despite the guaranteed death sentence that usually followed pissing her off, so he wasn’t sure if that was entirely accurate as Tex was way more frightening than any tank could be when really pushed past her limits.  He was still wrapping his head around how Tex had managed to throw one through the goddamned air once.

Maybe it had more to do with how Sheila had _always_ been classified as his teammate, even before Captain Flowers had recruited them for his oddly mismatched squad.  It was possible that Church just kind of developed a bond with the generally polite Virtual Intelligence as a result.

His memory was always fuzzy when it concerned his life both from a personal stance and in his career as a soldier before Flowers had sought them out.  He knew that Sheila had always been around in a sense.  He had a sense of familiarity with Carolina that he assumed came from them having spent time together growing up as relatives.  Then there was his off-and-on-and-on-and-off-again-really-more-of-a-yo-yo relationship with Tex, but too much beyond that?

Flashes and moments of memories here and there, but nothing very concrete.

He chalked it up to probably having had a rather fucking boring childhood, as a lot of the days when they were at the Mother of Invention doing nothing seemed to blur together too.

Church supposed that should bother him more, but for some reason it never did.  He imagined if he really wanted to remember more, it was probably always there below the surface in his mind.  He just never had the incentive to delve too deeply there.

He could also probably always ask people like Carolina or Sheila to help fill in any gaps and maybe jumpstart his brain into remembering things more clearly.

He just never did for some reason.

He didn’t really know if asking them would count as snooping too much into their personal lives either.  He kind of tended to want to avoid any unnecessary drama interactions with the people he had to deal with on a routine basis for his own sanity.

“Perhaps Doc was right.  Getting a breath of fresh air might help a bit.” Sheila was saying, her helmeted head tilted to the side thoughtfully as she watched him finally stop pacing, “We should be cautious still, yes, but I doubt there is too much to worry about this close to the negotiations.”

She was probably right about that, especially if they weren’t going to be going on a goddamned tour of the Slums like Doc seemed to be thinking of doing.  Where did the moron even find a brochure pamphlet of the place, anyways?  Church never would have thought those were actual things that were made on account of how the Slums weren’t exactly a fucking tourist attraction.

He doubted that the Resistance and most anyone else who lived down here would be stupid enough to probably try something even if they were peeved off at Above Ground while the Council was here.  Not if they didn’t want a repeat of what had happened before on this top level after the Insurrection’s attack topside.

Though that whole “threat” looming over these proceedings in general had also pissed him off, truthfully.  He really just wanted to forget for a while that the people he technically worked for were that huge of dicks in the first place.

Not really feeling up much for arguing anymore, he regarded the robot in mild amusement at her suggestion.

“ _’A breath of fresh air_ ’?  Sheila, that is some weird ass terminology for a robot with no lungs to use.” He joked.

“Are you saying I cannot appreciate the sentiment behind it, Church?”

Her voice maintained the polite quality it always had, but there was a newfound sharpness lingering behind her question.

Yeah, Sheila might not be in a tank anymore, but he wasn’t all that sure pissing her off was in any way a good idea.

Church sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat as he tried smoothing over the joke that hadn’t gone too well.  Which is why he usually thought it was better to just not give a crap in general, at least then anytime he got someone pissed off it was more or less intentional because he was prone to commenting on actions sarcastically.

“Nah, of course not.  Anyways, you’re probably right and it will be fine.” He paused then, another thought crossing his mind, “Besides, maybe we can find Doc before he causes some kind of incident out there.”

Sheila nodded, apparently pleased that he’d agreed with her and had stopped running a trail into the ugly carpet in the room.  Then she moved out into the hall to wait patiently for him to follow.  The door closed behind him moments later, and they headed in the direction of the closest stairwell.

He’d never been too big of a fan of elevators.  Especially ones that were more on the cramped side of the spectrum, which was definitely what this shitty hotel’s ones more or less could be described as.  The lighting was also pretty dim in them too, which caused Church to get nauseous even before he’d stepped inside one the first time just as the doors had opened.  He wasn’t going to do that again for as long as he could avoid it during this stupid “trip.”

The hotel building was a bit on the taller side for Slums architecture with their rooms being on the eighth floor, but it would still be dwarfed in size by most of the skyscrapers in Above Ground.  Taking the stairs really wasn’t a major issue.  It wasn’t like Sheila would get exhausted anyways and he never really did himself, so no big deal either way there.

With any luck, Doc hadn’t gotten too far away from the building yet and was just talking some poor passersby’s ears off about whatever “alternative” medicines he was most interested in now.  Doc had been animatedly discussing crystals and hemp the last time he’d been subject to that topic himself, but Church couldn’t be totally sure that was what he was talking about given his tendency to tune Doc out the minute he got started talking.

As they began their descent, the sounds of multiple voices talking rather loudly (and some quite heatedly) filled the air from further down the staircase.  Church paused, internally debating on whether or not he really wanted to walk in on whatever shit was going on down there.

 _“None of my goddamned business”_ wasn’t just a motto of his.  It was a way of life that had served him extremely well for the most part in the past.

He turned to suggest to Sheila that they might want to go another route figuring she’d agree out of politeness for not wanting to intrude into someone else’s conversation, if nothing else.  But, then he saw his friend’s green-armored body stiffen even more than normal for her mechanical joints at the sound of one indistinct voice in particular.

“Sheila?” he asked, more than just a little confused by her reaction to the overheard background noise.

She didn’t respond, suddenly breaking ahead down the stairs as if the fire alarm had just gone off.

“Hey!  Sheila!”

Now Church wasn’t so much confused as he was concerned by her actions.  Robotic hearing was a lot better than crappy human hearing, after all.  For all he knew she could have picked up on something bad happening down there.  He followed her quickly, debating on whether or not using a weapon might be necessary.  He really hoped not: usually his aim resulted more in people getting injuries from laughter than because he actually hit anything.

By the time they reached the last expanse of stairs, he could finally see what was going on.  By then, Church wasn’t sure anymore _why_ he had ever thought Sheila’s suggestion on going out was anywhere near a remotely good idea.

At the bottom of the stairwell was Agent Washington, a Freelancer with some pretty lacking social skills.  It was saying something if Church of all people could say that about someone else, given his complete embracement of “definitely not being a people person” in any way, shape or form.  Not to mention that on top of that Washington wasn’t known for being one of the cheeriest people to be around these days. 

With Washington at the bottom of the stairs was that teal-armored jerk-who-was-sort-of-okay-for-being-a-jerk Tucker from the Resistance whom they had met during that really crappy time a year ago.

Both of them seemed to be engaged in a pretty heated debate with some peeved-off looking guy in steel armor with orange trim.

Along with the three having a fight, there was also a figure in the familiar tan and cobalt armor belonging to the leader of the Resistance, Vanessa Kimball.  As well as a figure in brown armor that most likely belonged to—

“Lopez!” Sheila called out just then, and Church suddenly realized she had probably only ran down there because she had overheard the Resistance robot saying something earlier in electronic Spanish.

All heads turned up at her exclamation and Church groaned inwardly.  It had taken fucking _weeks_ after they’d last met these people for her to finally stop humming Spanish songs.

“Sheila? ¿Eso es realmente usted?" _{"Sheila?  Is that really you?"}_

He couldn't be completely sure of it, but Lopez's comment seemed to sound like a rather happy one even with his filtered way of speaking which in turn made Church really have to fight back the urge to groan again given how excited his teammate seemed to be in response.

The idea of a star-crossed robotic love affair being rekindled anywhere near his vicinity was enough to make him wish his head would just explode.

“Oh, great.  Another asshole.” Tucker muttered at their intrusion, looking pointedly at Church when he said it.

Of course, Church’s immediate response was showing off the material of the glove that especially covered his middle finger, “Nice to see you again too, dick-hole.”

The stranger in the steel and orange armor regarded this new exchange incredulously, “Tucker, are there _any_ Above Grounders you know who you wouldn’t be tempted to start off an international incident with?”

Tucker paused then, seemingly thinking about the question for a good long while before answering, “Depends on how many fine ladies there are up there I haven’t met yet.  Bow-chicka-bow-wow!”

“No deseo ser asociado con usted en este momento.” _{“I do not wish to be associated with you right now.”}_

Washington shook his head as if in disbelief, “No words.  Literally none.”

“Wow, Tucker, way to stay classy.” Church muttered under his breath.

“Oh, fuck off, Church.” He got the distinct impression that the Resistance fighter was rolling his eyes at him, “At least I can say I don’t have a trained killer who likes punching through metal walls for fun as an ex!”

“You…dated Tex?” Washington was regarding Church as if he had just grown an extra head at that reveal, “How is that even…?”

“Oh, come on.  Use your imagination!  I bet it involved lots of rope and duct tape.  Probably a couple safe words of some kind too.”

Washington sighed at the obvious grin in Tucker’s voice, “Never mind.  I really don’t want to know.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.  Because I’m all for relative strangers knowing every possible detail about my personal life.” Church stated sarcastically, “It’s a really fucking awesome way to break awkward silences.”

The Freelancer appeared slightly embarrassed, and Tucker snickered slightly—evidently relieved to have gotten some of the attention away from himself at the moment through Church’s distraction.

“I’m not sure you’ll want to keep joking about that too much, Tucker.” Kimball spoke up then, sounding almost amused, “What if Tex heard you?”

“Oh, shit!” Tucker stopped being pleased with himself and looked around anxiously, “…The comm-link isn’t on still, is it?”

Church imagined him paling considerably at the thought that Tex had somehow overheard him and couldn’t help but grin in response.  He had sort of forgotten how he’d almost had fun going back and forth with Tucker before.  When they weren’t annoying the hell out of the other person too much, of course.

The steel and orange wearing stranger regarded Kimball in mild exasperation at her egging on this bizarre conversation, “It’s surprising how nonchalant you’re being about this.”

Okay, so obviously something had happened before they had walked in on this whole…strangeness, for lack of a better word.

Church and Sheila started heading down the rest of the stairs.  His teammate quickly went over to talk to the mechanical Resistance member as Church tried to withhold the gag reflex he had at the notion of that whole situation starting up again.

Kimball shrugged, “I would have been extremely angry if things had gone differently back there, but they played it off well enough.” She glanced briefly at Tucker and Washington.

So, this whole thing started because of those two then?  Odd couple moments all around, Church supposed.

To think that everyone had been making jokes about how he’d be likely to potentially mess the “peace talks” up just by being himself!  Church probably shouldn’t be as amused as he was by the fact that they had all been wrong given the situation but _still_.

“Besides, with the Council stalling and wanting to prolong the proceedings even further, they have no choice but to play along as well.” Kimball stated bluntly.

Well, the news of the Council stalling wasn’t too damn shocking either.  Church thought of what Carolina was probably up to right about now, and once again tried telling himself that he really didn’t want to know anymore about this whole fucked up situation.

The man Kimball had been addressing thought about what she said for a moment, frowning slightly, “I guess that’s true.  Even if I still want to rip someone a new one right about now.”

He was glaring pointedly at Tucker then, and the Resistance fighter sighed.

“Love you too, Felix.” Tucker mumbled, flipping him off.

“Definitely spitting in your food next time.” The person Church could now identify as Felix said in a very fake cheerful tone, though it was obvious from the inflection underneath it that he was still very much annoyed by whatever the teal-armored soldier had done beforehand.

Tucker and Felix glared at one another silently.

Kimball took advantage of the sudden quiet to turn to Church.  The lady was okay in his book given how she’d helped them out last year during that really crappy fake mission, so he believed her when she said to him: “It’s nice to see all of you again under better circumstances, Church.”

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “Fake peace talks count as better circumstances now?”

“Better than hostage situations and all-out attacks, yes.” Her voice took on a wry note, “It’s an unfortunately slippery scale.”

He was about to ask her what the “stall” comment she’d made had been about, when a new thought crossed his mind after glancing over at all of the people present.  He turned to the Freelancer who’d been listening in on the exchanges silently at the moment, “Where’s Simmons?  The nerd had first guard round with you, didn’t he?”

“Um…” Washington fidgeted slightly, apparently unsure of how to respond to the question.

“Oh!  He ran off after his boyfriend once the talk was over with.” Tucker explained instead, quicker with recalling what had happened apparently, “No biggie.”

“Boyfriend?” Washington glanced at Tucker in surprise, “That was why he’d been acting so strange?”

Tucker shrugged, “Boyfriend.  Married.  Whatever.  It kind of depends on who you ask.  Right?” he directed the question to Church since they’d both seen how the two had interacted before.

“So, the fat ass is somewhere around here?” Church frowned, wondering if he shouldn’t be looking for Simmons now too.

After all, the last time his maroon teammate and Grif had met up it hadn’t resolved all too pleasantly.

His growing urge to hit his head on something increased tenfold.  Church had _not_ wanted to have to deal with domestic love drama on top of robotic domestic love drama either.

“Dude.  He isn’t the only one.”

There was a mischievous note in Tucker’s voice.  The remark caused Church to regard him with wide-eyed trepidation as he recalled the teal-armored fighter’s earlier fearful comment over the possibility of a certain someone having overheard their conversation.

“Shit, Tucker, you don’t mean—“

The exit door to the outside from the stairwell opened up then, and a familiar figure in black smirked directly in his direction.  It had been awhile since Church had last seen her outside of her armor, but he recognized the dark eyes regarding his growing dread with mild amusement far too well all the same.

“Nice to see you again too, cockbite.” Tex said in way of greeting.

“Oh, fuck no…!”

And standing behind her was a tall figure in standard blue armor, as well as a shorter person in brown armor hanging tentatively further behind the other two.  It was as if they were hesitant to step any closer towards the building given what was happening inside at the moment.

Both of them were also all too terribly familiar to Church, though it was the larger of the two that had him the most worried and exasperated already.

“Church, is that you?  Oh, this is so great!”

His fear was proven to be with good reason mere moments later, with Caboose rushing forward to hug his “best friend” in an embrace that probably would crush bones if Church hadn’t been wearing his armor.

The urge to brain himself on something really was getting harder and harder to resist now.

“It’s Agent Washingtub too!  Hello!” Caboose was calling out as he dropped Church to wave enthusiastically at the Freelancer.  Church was a little surprised.  He hadn’t known before now that apparently Washington had some history with both Tucker and Caboose.

“Caboose?” The man in the steel armor with the yellow trim was regarding him in shock, which seemed to increase quite a bit when he caught sight of the woman still standing rather awkwardly behind Tex as well, “C.T.?”

The former Freelancer in brown armor took in a deep breath and straightened her posture some, managing to get out a rather formal sounding greeting despite her earlier hesitancy, “Agent Washington.”

“Of course everyone here just happens to know everyone else.” Felix mumbled under his breath, “Small fucking world.”

Caboose started talking excitedly then, moving his arms animatedly, “Gruf, Gruf’s sister, and Simons are talking outside!  And Private Cookie is becoming new best friends with my new purple friend too!” Even with his helmet on, it was easy to imagine the beaming smile on Caboose’s face as leaned over to conspiratorially whisper to Church in a loud enough voice for everyone else to still hear, “They’re even talking about having a party!”

That was pretty much the point in the conversation when Church’s brain officially tuned out of the exchange for a good long while for the sake of his continued sanity.

Fuck it.  Now he _really_ just wanted to hit his head repeatedly on something hard until this whole damn episode was over with.

*****

“Dude, you’ve been staring for twenty minutes.” Grif told him, somehow managing to sound both amused and exasperated all at once.

Simmons’ face went even redder at Grif’s comment—well, the parts of it that _could_ still turn red at any rate.  He was fairly certain his mechanical and circuitry components had even started to heat up a little too in response to his embarrassment.

He turned from looking at Kaikaina still in disbelief to glare at her brother with the knowing smirk plastered across his face in annoyance.

“I—I wasn’t, not really!” Simmons muttered lamely in self-defense, “N—not like that!”

“Relax, Simmons,” Grif actually had the audacity to laugh at his friend’s mortification, “If I thought it was because of those kinds of reasons I would have already kicked your scrawny ass.”

Right.  Because one of the few things Grif ever took seriously was making sure his little sister was okay.  The first time they’d ever met, he’d proven that pretty quickly with a punch to Simmons’ face when he had thought the other teenager had messed with her.

Simmons glanced back at the young woman from where the two of them were now sitting on one of the benches close by the hotel’s main entrance.

She had left them alone to continue their talk after her initial greeting once Grif had told her to “ _Beat it._ ” after she made a comment about not wearing any underwear under her armor with her traditional “ _You suck!_ ” remark thrown at her brother as she went.

How she had even gotten on to that topic in the first place was beyond Simmons’ comprehension since they had been having a pretty routine “what’s up with you?” dialogue before then.  The subsequent glare Grif had given Simmons in response to how red he had become then, followed soon after by the chubbier man being more amused than anything else, certainly hadn’t helped relieve the Above Grounder’s discomfort.

Kaikaina had since then wandered over to talk to Doc and Grif’s teammate in the pink armor who Simmons thought he remembered was named Donut.  It had been awhile and they hadn’t really been properly introduced, so maybe he was off on that though.  He remembered that it was certainly a bit of a strange name, whatever it was.

There had been two other people from the Resistance with them at the time too: Caboose, the rather childlike fighter in blue armor who had tried to befriend Church during their stay as “guests” of the Resistance a year ago, and former Freelancer agent Connecticut.

Simmons had been taken aback at seeing C.T. again.  Her defection had been something of a complete shock when it happened only a few days after they had returned to Above Ground after that whole horrible clusterfuck of a mission.  He had taken it especially hard at the time, given that C.T. was the first female he could probably consider a proper friend beyond Sheila.  Rumors had even started flying around that she had been a spy for the Resistance and perhaps her disappearance wasn’t so much a defection as a quiet execution and an unmarked grave.

Oddly enough, Agent Washington had been the one to tell him not to pay attention to what people were saying.  The Freelancer assured him that C.T. had her reasons and that she was more than likely just fine wherever she was.  It had been the first time Washington had really attempted to engage him in conversation for more than two minutes before leaving in a hurry.  So, while Simmons knew he was not telling him the full story, he was inclined to believe the Freelancer since he had gone out of his way to talk to him.

It made sense, Simmons supposed, that her defection had meant she went to the Resistance.  He already knew of three Freelancers who had done the same earlier and it was an understandable move, all things considered.

Simmons was just glad, as he had been when he first saw Grif again and subsequently Kaikaina that, like them, C.T. was doing relatively okay by appearances given the situation.

He had been debating about going over to try to talk to her as well when a red-haired woman dressed completely in black civilian attire had approached the group at the fountain.

He had recognized her as Agent Texas even while outside of her actual battle armor, largely due not only to what he remembered about the way the former Freelancer had carried herself but also because the woman had the same odd shimmer that had hung onto the fully armored Tex before.  Tex was the only other human beyond Church that he knew of where his cybernetic eye would have that strange glitch when regarding them.

She spoke to them for a few moments and he’d held back, rather intimidated by the soldier in general.  Afterwards, both Caboose and C.T. followed her towards the side of the hotel.  C.T. had held back for a moment, glancing over at Simmons and waving slightly in greeting, body language slightly apologetic at perhaps not having the chance to catch up currently.  Then all three of them were gone.

It seemed like something had come up, but that it wasn’t extremely vital given the more relaxed pacing everyone still had and the fact that Tex hadn’t told all of the Resistance members to follow her.  She hadn’t even bothered calling Grif over to talk to him about whatever was going on either.

The other three people who remained behind were laughing about something now, seemingly completely carefree at the moment.

“It’s just…she’s in armor.” He mumbled, still in disbelief at seeing Kaikaina in the yellow gear.

He had been rather surprised to find out that Grif of all people had given up his relatively comfortable lifestyle to fight for the Resistance.

As for Kaikaina, he’d never once pictured the vibrant and loud fourteen-year-old girl he had been remembering all this time in his head doing something like that at all.

Things had definitely changed over the years since that time, and usually never for the better unfortunately.  But, still, that hadn’t been one of the changes he had ever expected to see.

Grif sighed, almost looking defeated as his earlier amusement at Simmons’ reaction faded: “I sort of had the same reaction too.” He scowled, “Especially since the dumb brat did it without telling me.”

“R—really?” Simmons turned to him again, surprised.

“Well, my reaction had a shitload more yelling actually.” Grif grinned at the recalled memory, “We didn’t talk for awhile afterwards.”

“I can imagine.” He smiled back weakly, not sure if the gesture would annoy the other man or not given the circumstances.

Both Grif siblings could be as stubborn as fuck when it came to not backing down, even with how lazy Dexter Grif often was at times.  Simmons could easily imagine that the idea of his younger sister joining an underground military operation behind his back wasn’t something that would sit well with the tan man.  That Kaikaina probably reacted back just as explosively to his protest was kind of a given.

He glanced over at the yellow-armored girl again, curious: “So…why did she join exactly?”

Kaikaina had never struck him as a person who would be interested in joining a war effort.

Then again, Grif hadn’t really wanted to before either and yet the two of them had ended up meeting again on opposing sides due to the conflicts between Above Ground and the Slums starting up once more.

Grif stiffened next to him, frowning.  Simmons felt a momentary surge of panic that he had somehow unintentionally overstepped some unknown boundary by asking that question.

He had just found out that Grif was all right and wasn’t hating him for what had happened before, he really didn’t want to lose that again.  His brain was already trying to figure out what to do for damage control, when Grif finally answered.

“It was because I’d joined.”

There was a raw pain in his voice that Simmons hated hearing.  He’d only ever heard it a few times before, back when Grif had opened up about his parents abandoning him and Kaikaina and once more when he’d recounted to Simmons what had happened to cause him to join the Resistance despite having no desire to do so before.  He’d hated it in those instances too.

Grif was staring at his sister, who was now laughing loudly at something Doc had apparently said, “She said she wanted to help look out for me for once.”

He regarded Simmons wryly then.  There was an uncharacteristically worried look in his brown eyes, “Did you know she hates guns?  She still calls them _‘gross’_ all the time.”

“Grif—”

“But then she goes and joins a fucking army because she missed her worthless brother.” He laughed sharply, but it was more of a pained sound than anything else, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, Simmons.”

“She obviously doesn’t think you’re worthless then,” Simmons was surprised at how quickly and easily his response came out, “You were the one who raised her and everything.”

“Not to throw her damn life away!” Grif shot back just as quickly, looking hurt and angry all at the same time.

“You’re the one who chose to sign up first to protect her.” He reasoned, and the cyborg was trying not to pat himself on the back too much for this being one of the rare conversation instances where it seemed like his mouth was actually following through with what his brain was thinking in a surprisingly composed manner, “She should be able to decide on her own how she wants to show she cares about you too.”

He expected Grif, given the angry expression that had started forming on his face as Simmons had been talking, to try punching him in response.  To argue more about how his life wasn’t worth that much or something, and his muscles clenched as Simmons mentally braced himself for it.  Though Grif surprised him by suddenly shaking his head and grinning instead.

“Not only did you actually argue that without stuttering, Simmons, but you pretty much used the same argument Kai gave me as to why she was staying put.”

“I—I did?” Simmons blinked, glancing over at Kaikaina again in shock.

“I know, right?  My little sister used fucking _logic_ against me.  I wasn’t sure whether I should have been more impressed or terrified at the time.” His grin widened in amusement as he looked at the redhead sitting next to him, “Though you just stuttered so I’m going to have to negate some of my earlier praise for you.  Nerd.”

“Sh—shut up, fat ass!” The parts of Simmons’ face that were still flesh and blood were a vibrant red once more at Grif’s ribbing, and Grif laughed at the weak retort—this time the laughter sounded much more genuine.  The serious reflection on what his sister had done was apparently over with now that the tone of the conversation had changed back to their usual banter.

Simmons couldn’t help but smile despite his annoyed embarrassment with having been teased once more.  He was grateful to see that the orange soldier was still able to bounce back to his usual carefree self despite the obvious worry he was attempting to deal with.

That had always been a trait Simmons had admired during his years of knowing Dexter Grif.  He’d even been somewhat envious of it at times given how much he himself internalized every worry and insecurity that popped into his head.

Simmons would honestly probably be pretty fucking worried if, at some point, Grif _couldn’t_ do it.

Grif’s laughter subsided, and he turned to look at the cheerful trio still talking animatedly together by the fountain, “They seem to be hitting it off rather well.”

Simmons nodded, his face still slightly heated in response to the odd inner realization he’d just had.  He was more than just a bit glad to have something else in the immediate vicinity to direct his attention towards.

“The guy in purple armor?  He’s Doc.  He’s a teammate of mine.” Simmons explained quickly, trying to keep his voice from stuttering again, “He wasn’t with us.  Last time.”

“Obviously.”

Mentioning their previous encounter caused an awkward, heavy silence to fill the air.  It had an oppressive quality to it.  There were a whole lot of things that Simmons was desperate to not say in the wake of it.

“He—he’s eccentric, but nice.” He said quickly, hoping to get the conversation moving again with small talk instead of anything that could potentially ruin how things were going currently, “He’d been wanting to see the Slums and he kept saying how the talks might—“

“Simmons.” Grif cut in again, though, judging by the frown forming on his face, it almost looked like he’d been hesitant to do so.  Perhaps this was a conversation topic neither of them particularly wanted to have, given that they had the chance now to just talk like they used to.

The Above Grounder stopped talking, looking hesitantly at Grif shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You know these peace talks are bullshit, right?” The orange-armored fighter asked quietly, “That the Council is up to something and once this is over with, things will go back to the shitty way they’ve always been?”

Simmons frowned.  Of course he knew that.  He had known it ever since Carolina had informed him of the talks.  It didn’t hurt to be hopeful that maybe something positive could come out of it, but with the way the Chairman put a halt on the discussions earlier he knew that that wasn’t very likely.

The Council, Chairman Hargrove—they, _he_ , had an agenda for everything.  The fighting wouldn’t stop permanently until there was a reason for it that the Chairman deemed valid enough.

Complaints from Slums residents or even from Above Ground citizens wouldn’t be enough to change the Council’s minds at this stage.  Anti-protest laws had even become all the more viciously enforced recently.

The cyborg had spent more than enough time in the military now to know how things worked in the city he called home, unfortunately.

Grif’s smile became somewhat wry, “I just hope this time we aren’t saying goodbye at gunpoint again.  That was pretty fucked up.”

There was a lot that Simmons wanted to say in response: more apology, how he _really_ didn’t want that to happen either.  But, the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.  Just as he was finally about to blurt out _something_ just to fill the silence—

“Hey, guys,” Grif’s teammate Donut was walking over to them with a literal skip in his step and a friendly wave, Doc and Kaikaina in tow, “Guess what?  Doc and I were sharing recipes, and it turns out our banana nut bread ones are really similar!”

Whatever serious moment they were having was lost then.  Simmons wasn’t quite sure whether he felt more relieved or disappointed.  Definitely a mixture of both, though.

Grif raised an eyebrow at the pink-armored soldier’s announcement: “You don’t say.”

“It’s true.” Doc spoke up pleasantly, completely overlooking Grif’s sarcasm.  Then again, Doc wasn’t really the best judge of whenever Church was using it either now that Simmons thought about it, “Even though we are from different regions, certain ideas will always connect us.”

“Like bread recipes.” Grif said dryly.

“Oh, it’s a _great_ banana nut bread recipe, Grif.” Donut joined in, “Emphasis on the nuts.”

The orange-armored soldier sighed, exchanging an exasperated look with Simmons.

“I love nuts.” Kaikaina said happily, and Simmons honestly couldn’t tell if she was talking about the food or the perhaps not-really-intended-but-still-there innuendo the blond-haired soldier had just stated, “You guys should share!”

“Why are you here again, Kai?” Her brother seemed to now be quite desperate to change the topic away from _“nuts”_ : “I thought you were training with Sarge along with the other lieutenants.”

She scoffed, “Oh, he got cranky because I told him where he could shove his stupid obstacle course,” she had a smug look on her tan face as she added, “Right after I kicked its ass!”

“So, he sent you on a time out?”

“Nah, he said I should practice scouting more and find his stupid robot.  Which is lame, but it gave me the chance to run into you guys!” She grinned.

“He must have really needed a break from her.” Grif whispered conspiratorially to Simmons, “He’ll send me out on pointless errands all the time.” He frowned following that, “Though I guess I should be insulted that all she got was a lousy find-the-robot one whereas I usually get the test-this-place-for-mines-and-tripwire ones.”

Simmons stared at him blankly, “You’re…kidding, right?”

“’Fraid not.” He shrugged, a smug expression on his face, “See, Simmons?  You miss all the fun stuff when you’re not down here.”

The Above Grounder really wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Aw, Kaikaina!  You should have mentioned you were looking for Lopez earlier!” Donut chided playfully, “He’s been just over there in the hotel this whole time.”

“For the talk thingie?” She scrunched her face in thought, as if debating on whether or not she really wanted to go find him at the moment.

“You’d better just go.” Grif could read his younger sibling’s expression pretty well, “Sarge might get really annoyed if you make him wait too long.”

“Well, he _was_ talking about all of us having moving orange target practice later.  If we’re on our best behavior.  My aim isn’t too hot so that might be good.” She looked at her brother and Donut questioningly, “What kind of targets are they?  Oranges?”

Grif’s face took on a deadpan expression, “No clue.”

“Oh!  Oh!  I bet it’s the Holo-Grifs again!” Donut said cheerfully, “Remember how happy Sarge was the day he and Lopez got that room all set up, Grif?”

“I really try not to, Donut.” He turned to his sister before anyone could ask either of the Red Team members any questions about just what Donut had meant by “Holo-Grifs”: “Just go find Lopez and get back before something happens.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Kai shouted defiantly, resulting in the two Grif siblings having a glaring contest.

“Aw, but Grif!  We were going to let her help us with the party planning!” Donut looked rather disappointed at his announcement.

Oh, right.  Simmons had thought they’d overhead them talking about that earlier.  He hadn’t really expected them to take it seriously though, given everything.

“Yeah, since I won’t be able to go, which sucks major ass.” She said sullenly, though the dark-haired girl brightened a few moments later as she thought of something.  She turned to Doc excitedly, “But I know the perfect place for you guys to check out if you want to see the real nightlife of this place!”

“Sounds fun!” Doc was smiling at her enthusiasm.

Simmons glanced at Grif, noticing that there was a nervous frown forming on his face.  He began to wonder just what Kaikaina’s definition of “fun” meant given that.

“You’re _not_ talking about that place that had the orgy, are you?” Grif asked bluntly, causing Simmons’ face to go bright red.  Even his cybernetic parts felt insanely hot.

How could someone even _ask_ a question like that with a straight face?

“I wish, but no.” She grimaced as if he had brought up a really upsetting topic, “Apparently they closed that place down because of some stupid health code violation or something.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Her brother mumbled sarcastically, though Simmons noted he almost seemed slightly relieved at the news.  Probably since it meant Kaikaina wouldn’t be able to go there anymore.

“I remembered reading about that place online.” Donut spoke up then, brown eyes lost in thought as he tried recalling whatever it was he’d seen, “It’s a shame that it closed down, but having seen the decor I can understand why.  Their color scheme was atrocious and don’t even get me started on those things they were trying to pass off as drapes!”

“I didn’t know decorating was that important for establishments like that.” The Above Ground medic was nodding his head as if this conversation was completely normal, “Interesting!  I guess it is true what they say about how you learn something new every day, huh?”

Grif turned to Simmons with an amused smirk on his face and a raised eyebrow.  The maroon soldier couldn’t help but groan slightly.

“I don’t know.  I never really paid much attention to how it looked when I was there.” Kaikaina gave a suggestive wink.

Which promptly caused her brother to groan in exasperation as well, “Goddamn it, Kai!”

Then it was Simmons’ turn to smirk at the tan man, which Grif promptly gave him the finger for.

“Kaikaina, it’s always important to pay attention to ambiance.” Donut admonished gently, as if Kaikaina was a little kid who had tried eating a cookie before dinner.

“Well, at any rate that place is out.” Kaikaina sighed softly, apparently rather disappointed, “I was actually thinking of this other club that’s on Level Four.  Atmosphere is nice,” she assured Donut before he could ask, and he smiled at her thankfully for mentioning it, “And the bartender gives you free drinks if you go topless for awhile.”

“ _KAI!_ ”

“That sounds fun!” Donut exclaimed happily, cutting into whatever was going to be Grif’s annoyed outburst following shouting his sister’s name in frustration.

“I’d like to go too.” Doc said, smiling slightly when Donut turned to him and Simmons was surprised to see a little bit of pink forming on his friend’s cheeks right under his glasses, “It will be a nice opportunity to mingle.”

“You’re—you’re actually serious?” Simmons blinked, surprised at how quickly the absurd idea seemed to be solidifying from just an innocent suggestion to almost reality, “About the party?”

“Why not?” Doc asked, his usual good-natured smile on his face, “We’re going to have some free time on our hands for awhile and it might help get some common ground established.  It’s a good way to get dialogue open.”

“And booze is great too!” Kaikaina chimed in quickly.

“This will be the perfect opportunity to try out my new body glitter.” Donut added in, his excitement obvious in his body language.

Simmons stared at them incredulously and then turned to look at Grif to gauge his reaction.  Beyond looking a little exasperated at his sister for her booze comment and his teammate for his body glitter one, the orange-armored soldier didn’t seem _too_ upset over the idea.

He shrugged indifferently when he saw that Simmons was looking at him questioningly, “Can’t really argue with their reasoning, as crazy as it is.  It might be a nice change of pace if Kimball’s okay with it.” The fighter grinned as he added, “Besides, Kai is right about one thing: booze _is_ great.”

“Whoo-hoo!  Yeah!” Kai shouted in way of agreement with her older brother, grinning.

“Maybe I’ll even have a few extra rounds in her honor because she’ll be stuck with training instead.” Grif added in smugly, clearly wanting to get back at the younger woman for the frustrating remarks she’d made earlier.

“Aw!  You suck!”

Grif laughed at her typical response to his teasing, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

Simmons looked at the two light-heartedly bickering siblings and then at both Doc and Donut discussing further party plans animatedly amongst themselves.  He sighed.

Suddenly the Above Grounder felt like he might need a drink himself sooner rather than later due to all of the stress that came with the “peace talk” happenings, running into Grif again, and then all of the odd conversation snippets that he had overheard in these last couple of minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Somehow Bitters became just as much of a ninja in this fic as C.T. did and got his very own POV. Weird how that happens sometimes, as I really hadn’t planned on writing from the perspective of any of the lieutenants in this fic. XD
> 
> So, yes, there’s going to be a party in this story arc because, well, why not? XD I’m looking forward to it, oddly enough, because I have all of these fun little ideas for character/pairing interactions in it and I’ve kind of been really wanting to jump right in to writing these next couple of parts because of that! :D I’m also going to go into just what Carolina has been up to during all of this, while setting up the conclusion to the whole “peace talk” plot-line (which may or may not involve a plot twist that isn’t really so much of a plot twist if you’re familiar with what has happened currently in Season 12, but hopefully my explanation for it will make sense in the context of this fic!).
> 
> Now it all just comes down to writing and typing it all out. :)
> 
> {BTW, my ideal superpower would be to just have the story you’re thinking in your head automatically appear on paper or in a word document without actually having to write it out! Then you can just magically change it with a thought or something whenever you need to edit it. Think of all the energy and time you’d save! XD …Yeah, that would probably be a pretty lame superpower, haha (getting a flashback to the great lame superpower debate Grif and Simmons had awhile ago, lol). But, I would definitely love to have it still. XD}
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this more or less set-up chapter. Thank you again, as always, for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Thirteen:

“So, you’re going to this stupid party thing too?”

Felix’s voice came from somewhere behind him, causing Tucker’s spine to stiffen slightly in surprise.  They were at headquarters, having just arrived back there a few hours ago after the first phase of the “peace talks” fiasco.

Tucker had just exited the large space that served as the Resistance’s mess hall.  Thankful, at the time, that the mercenary had been nowhere in sight while he’d been eating given Felix’s earlier threat to spit in his food.  He was fairly certain the other man had meant it given how annoyed he’d been at Tucker’s earlier actions.

Though, given how sneaky the bastard was, it wouldn’t have surprised Tucker to find out that Felix had beaten him there beforehand.  As vocally boastful as Felix was, he could be surprisingly stealthy when he felt the need to be.

Tucker just preferred _not_ knowing if that was the case.  Peace of mind and all that shit, or as close to it as he was going to get given the circumstances.  Hopefully, Felix wasn’t there just to gloat or show him “spit take” pictures or something.

He glanced up at the steel and orange-armored mercenary from the weapons rack he had been checking over right before Felix’s interruption.

Apparently one of Sarge’s training duties for the newer recruits that day had been weapons maintenance.  Given some of Private Palomo’s earlier mishaps with firearms, Tucker figured it was better to be safe than try to fire a gun later only to have it blast him across the room due to improper settings.

You really only did that once or twice before it stopped being remotely funny and became more of a nuisance, especially when it happened to you personally.  Generally speaking, when they weren’t in desperate need of a working gun and it happened to someone _else_ —well, yeah, Tucker would probably laugh his ass off: he _was_ only human after all and funny was funny!

Surprisingly, the weapons that Palomo had been assigned earlier seemed to be in even better working condition than last time he had checked out this storage area.

Maybe there _was_ something to be said for the crazy old guy’s training methods.  Or maybe there was some hope for all of the kids yet.

Personally, given everything going on right now, he kind of hoped it was a bit of both.

Regardless of his reasoning for asking it, Felix actually seemed pretty disinterested in whatever Tucker’ response to his earlier question would be. The mercenary only occasionally even glanced in the direction of the teal-armored soldier, paying closer attention to his own knife-twirling.

Yeah, Tucker got it: Felix was in love with that particular weapon.  He needed to just buy the damn thing a drink and make it fucking official.

Whenever they had talks like this, Tucker had to fight the growing suspicion that anytime the mercenary got the slightest bit annoyed he was inwardly fighting the temptation to stab someone with the blade.  It was odd considering he had personally never seen him do anything of the sort amongst his allies, though he’d seen Felix used the knife well enough to dispatch enemy combatants on the few occasions they’d been sent out on missions together.

Tucker shrugged in response finally as he put the last rifle back, “I might.  Kimball didn’t have any objections, so what the Hell.  Right?”

Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion Grif was going.  He figured it had been awhile since the two of them had the chance to just hang out as friends again outside of the war situation.

If the nerd guy Grif was married to showed up also, Tucker figured it would be perfect blackmail material later.  He could probably even get Kai to either pay him or give him booze later for any gossip on that particular subject.  His childhood friends were kind of _awesome_ that way.

Also, no matter how hard Tucker had tried to convince him that he probably wouldn’t like a club scene, Caboose had stubbornly declared to his teammate that he wanted to go too.  Probably because when Donut called it a “party” Caboose instantly thought that it would be like the little kids’ ones he loved: Tucker was fairly certain he’d enjoyed Junior’s last birthday party more than his son actually had.  Plus, the blue-armored Resistance fighter was convinced that asshole-who-wasn’t-so-bad-for-an-asshole-all-the-time Church would be there for some reason.

He wouldn’t have felt right if Caboose went to a club and somehow passed out in the toilet or something.  Though, admittedly, _he_ was more likely to do that on his more wild party nights ( _Bow-chicka-bow-wow!_ ), but he could just as easily picture Caboose attempting to make balloon animals out of condoms again.  Tucker had been desperately trying to avoid explaining what those actually were or having anything at all akin to “the talk” with the younger man.

If he wasn’t ready to have those kinds of discussions with Junior anytime in the near future, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to have them with his teammate yet!

“Sure.  It’s not like we’re in a fucking war with these people or anything.” Felix shrugged himself, the sarcasm practically dripping from his words: “What’s the harm, right?”

Tucker raised a black eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of the comment.

Granted, this wasn’t the first time Felix had disagreed with decisions made by either Kimball or other Resistance members.  He usually _loved_ making sarcastic comments about Tucker’s tactical decisions in general, which was probably why the two always argued if they spoke for more than two minutes to one another.  Still, the mercenary had been a little testier about things after the peace talk stall.

Not that Tucker could blame him, really, as the whole situation was putting pretty much everyone around here on edge.  That was probably one of the reasons why he was personally looking forward to Donut’s party planning for a change despite how insane it was in the face of everything.  It would be a chance to relax for a bit.

“Dude, if these guys were any sort of actual threats or if pissing them off could somehow make things _any_ worse, there is no fucking way Kimball would have agreed.” Tucker told him, “These idiots are harmless.  Believe me.”

“For the most part, I do.  Having met them in person and all.” Felix paused then, looking at Tucker sharply, “But the Freelancer you tried decking today is on a whole different level than the other soldiers you’re talking about.”

_Well, yeah._   For all of his weird awkwardness if you somehow managed to get him flustered, Tucker would probably not classify Agent Washington on the same capability level as run-of-the-mill Above Ground soldiers like Church of Simmons.

He’d seen enough of Freelancers to know they had their own special category: the crazy-ass-but-terrifyingly-capable one.

“Can you honestly fucking picture a Freelancer hanging out with a bunch of loudmouthed idiots at a club?” The Resistance fighter asked disbelievingly, deciding it was better to joke in this case just to take the serious level in the room down a notch.

Besides, even trying to imagine it himself was all sorts of hilarious.  Tucker was fairly certain from the instances where they’d interacted that Washington had a pretty lengthy stick up his ass on his _best days_.

He had to honestly work very hard to stifle a snicker at the thought of him at a party.

The mercenary didn’t seem too swayed by his joke though, “You never know.”

“If he is, I promise that we’ll all be on our fucking best behavior.” Tucker rolled his eyes.

“Which isn’t at all encouraging, given the stunt you pulled back then.”

There was a sharpness in Felix’s voice as he spoke.  The hand that caught his combat knife’s hilt this time tensed minutely, just enough for Tucker to perceive it.

Yep, he probably _had_ spit in his food earlier.  Asshole.

Tucker didn’t say anything, for once deciding not to make a smartass comment in retaliation.  Even though nothing had happened, the other man’s annoyance with him was probably more than justified given the potential cluster-fuck that could have occurred if things had played out differently.

At least Tucker was man enough to admit to his mistake this time, he supposed.  One time event only, though.

When Felix realized he wasn’t going to snipe back this time as per their usual banter and perhaps surmising why, he sighed and changed tact.  His tone took on a more conversational note as he asked, “So, how do you even know that Freelancer?”

“I wouldn’t say I know him fucking personally or anything like that.” Tucker told him, somewhat relieved that at least things were moving past his earlier poor judgment, “You’d have to ask North or one of the other Freelancers for that kind of stuff.”

“You mean like C.T.?” Felix looked thoughtful and Tucker was fairly certain he was assessing him just to see what Tucker’s reaction would be to the mentioning of a teammate he was still visibly uncomfortable around at times, “The two of them seemed like they knew each other pretty well.”

“Yeah.  Like her.” He shrugged, not really wanting to discuss other people’s pasts when he wasn’t entirely clear on them himself, “They were friends or something before joining the Above Ground army.”

He had only just found that out himself in the mess hall a short while ago, when Donut had forced the two of them to listen to his “party plans.”

“I only know the asshole because he knocked me out a year ago during the Above Ground siege.” He said in way of further elaboration to Felix on his own connection to Washington instead.

“Oh, yeah.  I was the one who found you afterwards, huh?” Felix was smiling smugly at the memory, “I thought you were dead at first.”

“Yeah.  You helping me to a medic was the fucking highlight of that week.” Tucker rolled his eyes once more, “So, no.  Beyond just wanting to get back at the asshole, I really don’t know him all too well.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t just kill you.” Felix muttered, “Most Freelancers don’t have any compunction to hold back during hostile encounters.”

He really wasn’t in the mood to be chatting about what had happened a year ago right now.  Tucker shrugged, “He was probably just having an off day.”

“Right.  Because that completely explains covering for you today as well.” Felix said in mock agreement, rolling his eyes at Tucker’s abrasiveness.

“Like I know or give a fuck about what was going on in Washington’s head.” The dark-skinned man sighed, just wanting to move past this conversation entirely, “He’s an asshole.  He probably just did that to rub it in my face that I now owe him.”

Which, given the Above Grounder’s comment before Felix had interrupted them after the talks, was very likely true.

“Seriously, dude, I doubt he’s going to go clubbing.  I don’t know why you’re concerned over it.”

“Never said I was concerned, Tucker.  Just curious.” He glanced up from the knife again to regard Tucker once more, catching the hilt in a lazy grab motion without even looking to see if he had been catching that part or the blade beforehand, “So C.T. is going to be babysitting your kid while you’re out, huh?”

Shit.  So the fucker _had_ been somewhere in the mess hall then.  Tucker seriously regretted not having looked around him more carefully before eating now.

_“Are you two up for a night of fun?” Donut asked both of them the second he had dragged the two Blue Team members over to a table._

_C.T. looked somewhat apologetic, a regretful smile on her face, “Sorry, Donut.  I’m not really in the mood for that sort of thing right now.”_

_“Aw, that’s too bad.” The younger man had a sympathetic look cross over his features, “Is it because you ran into an old friend?”_

_“Partially.” From the troubled expression on her face, it seemed as if the Freelancer really didn’t want to elaborate on the subject any further._

_“Washington seemed surprised to see you too.” Tucker spoke up, unsure of whether or not he wanted to speak on the topic at all himself._

_He really wasn’t sure of his stance on Connecticut anymore.  On the one hand, he didn’t want to trust her given everything he knew about her past.  But, on the other—fuck that, she was a teammate and that should count for_ something _by now.  He was fairly certain Donut had gotten a hold of both of them just to have Tucker showcase that he was giving the former Freelancer the “benefit of the doubt” or some other bullshit like that._

_C.T. looked down at her food, mouth pressing into a thin line, “We were friends before Project Freelancer.  He was the one who convinced me to leave when my cover was blown.” She finally said curtly in way of explanation, “Probably saved my life.”_

_“Yeah, he kind of helped me out a while ago too.” Tucker managed to grin conspiratorially, even though the memory still sort of pissed him off._

_“Really?” The former Freelancer looked up at him, surprised._

_He nodded before jokingly asking, “Was he a smug prick about it when he decided to help you out?  Or give you a head injury to do it?”_

_She shook her head, but the slight smile on her face this time was a genuine one and not the usual awkward one she sported in previous uneasy conversations with her teal teammate, “No, sadly.  You must be special.”_

_“Don’t I know it!”_

_“I’d love to hear about that later, though.” Her demeanor had relaxed somewhat as the two of them were actually somewhat joking around together for a change, “He is way too serious for his own good now.”_

_Tucker scoffed, grinning himself, “You’re telling me.  First time the asshole cracked a joke I thought I’d gone crazy.”_

_Watching the exchange, the pink-armored soldier was smiling himself with something akin to a knowing look in his brown eyes.  Donut had definitely set the whole thing up, Tucker would surmise later, just to get them on friendlier terms.  Grif’s teammate was a bit craftier at times than he usually ever let on._

_“What about you, Tucker?” the Red Team member asked when a more companionable silence fell over the group a few moments later, “You’re coming, right?  Grif said he’d be there.”_

_“Only because he probably wants to make out with his husband.” Tucker was only partially joking with that line, though he frowned when thinking of his response to Donut’s actual inquiry, “As much as I love any excuse I can get to have a good time, Donut, with Junior I just can’t—“_

_“Oh, I thought of that!” Donut cut him off, beaming, “You definitely can’t take a child to a bar, after all!  Even one as responsible as Junior.”_

_Yeah, Tucker was fairly certain that logic was a little off in so many different ways.  But, it was probably best to just let the younger soldier continue through with his thought process._

_“With all of your usual babysitters preoccupied by other things, that leaves you in a pretty tight spot.” Donut was shaking his head as he spoke, the matter apparently being one he had been considering quite carefully, “And not the good kind of tight spot you usually_ want _to be in, you know?”_

_Tucker was fairly certain he did not want to know what Donut meant by that, truthfully.  He sure as Hell wasn’t going to ask the blonde to elaborate on it further._

_Donut tapped the table with his index finger absentmindedly thinking out loud, “But, if you still want to go because parties are so few and far between and you’ve heard how awesome my events are from Grif…”_

_Tucker hadn’t, though he knew Grif had recurring nightmares about someone he would only refer to as “Officer Hot Pants” on occasion._

_“If you think it’s better for Junior to have a babysitter because of all of the Above Ground shenanigans in case something happens, then there’s an obvious solution.”_

_Tucker was honestly not sure if he should be worried or not given the sudden light shining in the other soldier’s eyes._

_“Why not just let C.T. here babysit the little guy tonight?” he asked, finally getting to the point of his long line of dialogue._

_“Me?” She looked just as surprised at the suggestion as Tucker felt._

_“Her?”_

_Both teammates regarded each other incredulously following their comments._

_“It could be a trust-building exercise!” Donut smiled happily, obviously thinking this was the perfect solution to everything, “Only instead of falling backwards, there’s a person’s well-being to look after!”_

_“Donut!  You can’t just decide that for people!” Tucker groaned in exasperation._

_“Why not?” Donut looked undeterred by Tucker’s reaction, “C.T., you don’t mind since we’re all on free time, right?”_

_She blinked, taken aback at the turn of events and glancing over at Tucker as if to see how well he was handling the idea, “It’s not like I really had anything planned.”_

_“You don’t mind kids, do you?” Donut was smiling hopefully._

_“They’re fine.” She bit her lip, glancing between the two other people at the table to determine where exactly this was going to go._

_“Junior’s a great kid!  Very low maintenance.” Donut would have been an excellent salesman given his handling of the conversation right now, “You’ll love him.”_

_C.T. looked at the pink-armored soldier for a moment longer without saying anything as if trying to read his expression.  Then she glanced over at Tucker, looking hesitant but not as adverse to the idea as he had expected her to be given how quickly the whole thing had been orchestrated, “I wouldn’t mind doing it, but it’s up to you, Tucker.”_

_Right, because they really had only ever been civil to each other and she probably didn’t want to overstep any boundaries._

_“I think it’s about time you guys trusted each other a little more, don’t you?” Donut spoke up, his voice oddly sage-like given its usual bubbly tone, “You’ve been teammates for how long, now?”_

_Of course, they both knew it wasn’t nearly as simple as Donut was trying to make it out to be, but still…_

_“I would do my best to look out for Junior, Tucker.  No matter what else you want to think of me.”_

_Oddly enough, Tucker didn’t doubt his teammate’s sincerity in the slightest._

_She usually had been rather conscientious of Junior whenever Tucker had brought him to the Resistance base before.  She also tended to work well with Caboose and looked after him too.  Their childlike teammate was, in a lot of ways, arguably more of a handful than Junior given his oddball tendencies._

_So, yeah.  He knew she would look out for his son._

_He caught the knowing smile on Donut’s face and knew that he was probably aware of it too, otherwise he wouldn’t have even brought up the idea in the first place.  Donut wouldn’t risk Junior just to try to prove a point if he wasn’t trusting of the outcome._

_The “lightish red” member of Red Team was definitely a bit craftier than he often tended to get credit for._

_Tucker sighed, “I’ll fucking hold you to that, C.T.”_

_The brunette looked somewhat surprised and relieved all at once.  Tucker couldn’t help smiling slightly in response to the expression forming on her face at his willingness to entrust her with someone so important to him._

_It perhaps didn’t seem like a huge dynamic shift to someone outside of their group, but it really was.  Junior was his kid and he wouldn’t leave him with just_ anyone _after all, so it was certainly a step in a positive direction between the two team members._

_“Excellent!  I’m glad you’re going to go then, Tucker.” Donut was grinning, probably immensely pleased that his whole plan had worked, “When there are challenges to overcome, leave it to me to figure out ways to get over them.  Nailing things is what I do best!”_

_Both the teal-armored soldier and C.T. exchanged a look then, shaking their heads as Tucker started to regret agreeing to this whole thing now thanks to that last remark.  However, Donut was already excitedly going into his thoughts on appropriate dress attire, so it was too late really to do anything but get caught up in his excitement and go along with it._

“Yeah.” Tucker nodded along with his confirmation to Felix’s question, looking at the mercenary warily and wondering what his point was, “Why are you asking?”

“No reason.  I just didn’t know the two of you trusted each other enough for that yet is all.” Felix tossed the knife into the air again, “Given how she signed up and everything.”

“She’s been on my team for months now, and has probably helped the Resistance out a lot before then.” It felt odd defending a teammate he still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about completely himself, though Tucker became slightly surer of the words as they came to him, “I figured I owe her a little bit more trust now.”

“If you say so.” Felix really didn’t sound as if he cared either way. He glanced over at Tucker again, grinning, “You know, if you ever need a babysitter in the future, I’m available for the right amount of money.”

He rolled his eyes at the obvious joke.  Then again, Felix would do just about anything if the price was right so he could be halfway serious: “Please.  You’d probably just sell him off to the highest bidder.”

“Of course,” Felix definitely seemed to be enjoying this dialogue now, “Alien tech is a fucking goldmine.  Half-alien spawns are sure to break the damn bank.”

He wasn’t sure if Felix was joking or being serious.  It was hard to tell with him sometimes, especially when it came to money.  Probably a combination of both.

“I take it you aren’t going to the party then?”

The other man harrumphed, putting his knife back in its holster and crossing his arms over his chest lazily as he scoffed, “I have a whole list of things I’d rather waste my time doing, Tucker.  My rep would never live that down.”

Right.  Besides, if memory served him, Tucker recalled Felix mentioning a few days ago in a more serious moment that he hadn’t heard anything about that asshole mercenary Locus in a while through his contacts.  That had apparently concerned Felix enough to devote most of his free time recently to finding out what he was up to: _“Because it is never a good thing when that fucking dick goes off the grid.”_

The two had history together, apparently, through having belonged to the same mercenary unit awhile ago.  Though, apparently, it hadn’t been a stellar history considering how Felix had been even more willing to join the Resistance once he had found out that Locus was working for Above Ground.

Tucker could understand the animosity though, given some of the horror stories he’d heard about the guy following the siege.

Despite how often they tended to butt heads, Tucker supposed he could respect that about Felix in a way.  He was helping the Resistance out a lot after all.  He could have easily bailed earlier given how he had no real personal stake in anything that was going on beyond the Locus connection.

“More ladies for me then.” The Resistance fighter joked, not wanting things to get too serious in his own head.

“Have you _seen_ me, Tucker?  You’re lucky I’m not going.  You’d never have a chance with me there.” Felix smirked, his self-esteem clearly at its usual very high level, “Not that you’ll have much of one anyways.”

“Oh, fuck you.” He rolled his eyes again, whatever odd bonding moment they just had officially over with that jab, “You just don’t want to go because you don’t want to pay for drinks.”

“Of course not.  Do you know how much money I’d have to spend to get drunk enough to actually enjoy hanging out with you?” The mercenary shuddered.

Well, nice to know things were at least back to normal between the two comrades in arms.  Whether or not that was for better or worse though, Tucker honestly couldn’t say.

“It would probably permanently damage my liver on top of that.”

Probably for the worst.

Suddenly, Tucker was very much looking forward to Donut’s odd get-together even more.

*****

If Bitters wasn’t used to _some_ amount of crazy by now coming out of the mouths of those around him, he was fairly certain his head would have exploded long ago.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” The young man muttered, more to himself than with any real hope of the ridiculous notion he had just heard changing, “A _party_?”

“I know, right?” Kaikaina was glaring angrily at her older sibling sitting next to her as he was currently too enthralled with stuffing his face than with responding himself, “This asshole’s been rubbing it in my face the whole time since I can’t go!”

“What can I say?” Dexter Grif finally finished inhaling his food.  Thank God for that: watching the captain eat never really put Bitters in much of a mood to finish a meal himself.  He was honestly surprised the orange-armored soldier hadn’t choked at some point given how much food he tended to stuff in there all at once.

The older Grif sibling shrugged his shoulders in a disinterested fashion, though there was an odd twinkle in his brown eyes that looked very much to Bitters like poorly concealed mirth at his little’s sister predicament.  Bitters had siblings of his own.  Not that he cared to admit it now, but he had used the same look as Grif’s far too often himself, “I guess there are some perks with having to be forced to “volunteer” for fake peace talks by your crazy C.O. with a shotgun after all.”

“You suck!” Kaikaina stuck her tongue out at her older brother and harrumphed, which only made Grif smirk more.

Bitters supposed he could understand how elated the older Resistance soldier was at something that Sarge had forced on his chubbier subordinate partially as punishment for Grif “simply being Grif” inadvertently backfiring.  Getting to tease Kaikaina about it in the process probably made the whole thing even more enjoyable to him.

Currently all of the lieutenants had decided to venture to the mess hall together after Sarge had finally decided that they could use some free time to reenergize and get some food.

Kaikaina had rejoined them after finishing her “scouting mission,” dragging her brother along with her after having left Lopez with Sarge.  Though Bitters suspected that the young woman in yellow armor hadn’t really needed to be too persuasive to get him to come along with her, so long as Captain Grif had been able to get something to eat before plopping down to shoot the breeze with the newer recruits.  He was obviously very food motivated.

“A party, though?” Matthews spoke up from further down the table.  Smith was sitting in between them, so Bitters couldn’t see his face fully at the moment though he saw enough to discern that his teammate was biting his lip in the way he usually did when worried over something, “That’s a little…odd, given the situation.  Don’t you think, sir?”

Total kiss-ass mode already.  Bitters sighed inwardly, glad that Matthews was only asking questions in a respectful fashion instead of volunteering to do extra jobs or something.

“Well, it _was_ Donut’s suggestion.  So, yeah.  Probably.” Grif shrugged his shoulders again dismissively, as if that explained everything.

Perhaps in a way it did, given how prone to eccentricity Donut was.  Though, in fairness to a fighter who had been in the Resistance longer than Bitters had, pretty much _most_ members of the Resistance could be viewed as poster children for eccentric behavior.  It wasn’t like the pink armored soldier was alone there.  Being weird didn’t seem to be a requirement for joining the Resistance or anything, but it certainly seemed like it would help you fit in better.

“But, with all of the drama over the peace talks still, is that such a good idea?” Volleyball was frowning.

“Kimball did give her permission, so I am sure there is no real risk there.” Smith spoke up from his spot next to Bitters before Grif could respond to the blonde’s question.

That seemed to ease some of the doubt floating amongst the table, if nothing else.  Everyone looked a little less nervous at the reminder of the Resistance leader’s decision earlier.  The older lieutenant always seemed so very sure of his superiors’ decisions.  It was hard sometimes not to want to try to be that way more too when Smith talked, though Bitters was still not quite sure he’d call any of the tactics that Caboose or Sarge came up with as “brilliant” anytime soon.  Plus, he was still convinced most of the tasks that Grif asked him or Matthews to do for him could be chalked up more to sheer laziness on his part than anything else.

“A lot of us know the Above Grounders who would even possibly consider going to the dumb thing in the first place.  Kimball included.  They aren’t going to do anything to make things any fucking worse than they already are.  Believe me.” Grif said with an odd sense of finality in his voice that was pretty rare to hear coming from him.  The fighter never got too emphatic on anything, after all.

Kaikaina was regarding her brother with a knowing smirk plastered on her face, “Oh, please.  You’re just saying that because the guy you’re married to is probably going to be there.”

“Really?” Jensen let out a rather loud squeak at the proclamation, glancing over at Volleyball with an excited look starting to form in her brown eyes.

They’d all heard about those rumors largely thanks to Kaikaina and Tucker who always seemed to enjoy sharing embarrassing stories about Grif from their time growing up in Low Town together.  Which, in turn, would have Grif retaliating by telling embarrassing stories about them if he found out about it.  It was one of those amusing repeating circles to see in action as an outside spectator.

For some reason, Jensen’s reaction reminded Bitters of another rumor he had heard recently about how the girls had a betting pool going on regarding “potential couples.”

Oddly enough, he’d even heard his name being mentioned for it once or twice, though Bitters never found out how accurate said rumor was or who exactly he’d been paired up with for it.  He’d have to care more to actually be curious enough to get people to elaborate, and a part of him was sort of suspecting that it might be best _not_ to know what was truly going on there.

Though every so often he _would_ catch Jensen, Volleyball, or Kaikaina looking at him with eager eyes whenever he entered or left a room with Matthews and he wondered if he should be a little worried.  Or, if he should wonder about how much money they were possibly putting up on that sort of thing, as Kaikaina in particular seemed like someone who would take her gambling seriously.

The little bit of knowledge he did have always made him feel both oddly amused and scared all at once.  Since Matthews seemed oblivious to it as he was far too busy looking to suck up to older Resistance fighters for that kind of gossip usually, Bitters decided it wasn’t something he needed to dwell on too much.

Last thing he needed was for his teammate to find out about it and get really awkward.  The first two weeks after they had been assigned to the same sleeping quarters at the base had been way too weird for his taste as it was.  Now that they’d fallen into a comfortable enough rhythm and were something of friends, Bitters would prefer keeping it that way for his own convenience if nothing else.

Grif glared at his sister following that last remark and mumbled, “Knock that out, Kai.”

“I’m just saying!” she grinned, “Do you know how much money I could be up for?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes before her words seemed to sink in moments later, a grimace forming on his face, “Wait, _what_?”

She didn’t wait for his outburst to continue, which it most likely would have given how red-faced he’d suddenly become.  Instead, Kaikaina turned around to look pointedly at both Bitters and Matthews sitting across from her, “You two need to get busy as well.  I’ve had to cut back on buying booze and it majorly sucks!”

“Kaikaina!” Volleyball admonished, “It doesn’t count if you put the idea in their heads!”

“Yeah!” Jensen agreed quickly, nodding her head emphatically, “That’s cheating!”

Poor Matthews looked as if he was about to choke to death on the drink he had unfortunately just been starting to swallow when this whole turn of events went down.  His face turned completely red and it was almost taking on a purple hue right up to his hairline.

Smith was already moving his arm behind the yellow-trimmed fighter, just in case he would need to start pounding on the poor kid’s back in the next few seconds to help get him breathing again.

Bitters felt his own face involuntarily heat up.  Yeah, he definitely had _not_ wanted to know what exactly they’d been betting on with the two of them.  He made a quick mental note that he needed to find new friends and find them fucking _fast_.

“Goddamn it, Kai!  What have I told you about making bets on sex?” Grif’s face had become even redder in the last few seconds, though Bitters honestly couldn’t tell whether it was more due to embarrassment or frustration.

“I thought you said I couldn’t bet on my having sex anymore.” The tan girl looked exasperated, as if even recalling that was kind of annoying.

“Um…” Palomo leaned over the table to stage whisper to Jensen sitting across from him, “That would count as cheating, right?” He asked, sounding completely confused.

Before the girl could even respond to the private, Bitters let out his customary, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

“Well, you clearly haven’t gotten any yet.” His friend said way-too-cheerfully, smiling as if an idea had just come to him.  He faced Kaikaina and the other two girls, “Can I get in on the betting then?”

Seriously.  New friends all over the goddamned place.

“No one is fucking betting on anything.” Grif said through the hand that was now covering his face.  The urge to face palm had hit Bitters pretty hard as well just a few seconds ago as Palomo was talking, so he could understand the sentiment.

The captain peered through the spaces in his fingers over at the still hyperventilating Matthews and the very concerned-looking Smith.  The older recruit was the only one of the lieutenants thankfully who was no longer paying attention to the conversation going on around them, all of his focus on Matthews’ reaction.  From the look forming in his blue eyes it seemed as if Smith was trying to go through a mental checklist in his head of what he might need to do if the younger man passed out.

“Can we please change the subject to practically _anything_ else?”

“Aw, you’re no fun.” Kaikaina stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Actually, I am loads of fun.” Grif took full advantage of her comment to get the focus away from the whole “bet” situation, smirking somewhat as he went on to say, “Did you hear about how I got invited to a party?”

“Oh, you really do suck!”

Kaikaina was pouting and her sibling was grinning triumphantly.  Bitters regarded Captain Grif thankfully, his teasing having taken focus off of the betting matter entirely it seemed.  Given the focus on him during it, Bitters was rather immensely grateful for the conversational shift.

Smith seemed relieved as well, letting out a sigh and relaxing somewhat into his seat once more now that Matthews’ face appeared to be starting to return to something akin to a more natural shade of color.

Palomo switched gears pretty quickly following the sudden turn in conversation.  He had always been like that, ever since they were kids: his ability to adapt so quickly was one of the traits his friend had that Bitters was actually secretly impressed with, “A party sounds like a good idea though!  Maybe we should have one here.  Once we get through Sarge’s training.”

“Working with Sarge?  You guys would definitely have earned it by the time this whole training routine is done.” Grif said, looking thoughtful, “I know I am looking forward to getting to relax.”

“Don’t you relax any chance you can get though, sir?” Bitters asked, before he could stop himself and think about what he was saying.  Not that he usually ever did though.  Besides, it seemed as if Grif somehow respected him a bit more for speaking his mind.

Grif sighed sadly and said in a rather fake profound manner: “It’s a totally different and wondrous thing when you’re actually given permission to do so, Bitters.”

Well, the lieutenant supposed there _was_ a bizarre sort of sense to that logic even if he was well-aware that Grif had more than likely just then blown it out of his ass.

“Oh, yeah!” Kaikaina glanced over at Bitters then, recollection dawning on her tanned features, “Forgot to tell you earlier, Bitters, but the crazy old guy said he wanted to talk to you after dinner.”

“Really?” He blinked in surprise.

The only comments Sarge had made to him throughout the day during training had been disparaging remarks about his first attempt at the obstacle course.  Or lack thereof, in Sarge’s opinion.   The older Resistance soldier also had negative remarks about his poor choice in armor color trim: _“I can’t for the life of me figure out why any self-respecting, decent soldier would want to wear orange as their color!  It’s even worse than blue!”_

Bitters sort of figured he would have been the last recruit Sarge would want to interact with outside of training.

“Yeah.  I wasn’t paying attention all that much because he kept rambling on and on and, really, old people kind of suck.  But, I’m pretty sure he mentioned you.” She frowned, brown eyes narrowing in thought, “Or he was bitter about orange juice.”

“Orange juice is supposed to be bitter, isn’t it?” Palomo asked thoughtfully, tapping his finger to his chin and grinning, “Or is orange juice sour?  Either way, if it’s really good you always make a face when you drink it!”

Palomo turned to the orange-trimmed fighter then.  He seemed to be contemplating something else entirely.  His childhood friend’s mind went all over the place.  It was hard to keep track of which train of thought he’d land on next.

“Although, you’d probably know all about bitter stuff, huh, Bitters?” The young man’s brown eyes were lit up with mischief, “You know, because of your name and everything!”

He groaned at Palomo’s lame attempt at a name pun, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

“Oh, Bitters is definitely bitter!” Palomo laughed at his own joke, the other people around him rolling their eyes slightly.

Bitters didn’t even have the energy to respond beyond sighing in exasperation, so he just ignored his friend this time.  Instead, his mind continued to wonder about whatever it was that Sarge could possibly want to see him about.

He thought he’d done pretty okay after he got his act together today, so it couldn’t be because he was still mad about earlier.  Could it?  Did the old guy want him to do even more drills to make up for it?

He hoped not.  His body was still aching all over.  He honestly wasn’t sure how Palomo could still be his usual cheerful self given that he’d done the exact same exercises.

Plus, Sarge hadn’t apparently asked for Palomo.  Maybe that wasn’t it at all.  But, if that was the case, Bitters had no fucking clue what the commanding officer would want with just him outside of all of the other newer recruits also involved in training.

Grif seemed to catch the puzzled look in his eyes as Bitters fell quiet, regarding the younger man with the utmost seriousness as he said, “Just remember: if Sarge orders you to go shooting at Freckles or something else as ridiculously stupid, it is okay to tell him to go fuck himself.”

Bitters wasn’t even going to ask how often Sarge had ordered Captain Grif to do that.  Knowing the two of them and how they interacted, it was probably fairly frequently.

The conversation around him drifted back to the usual topics: the food being served, what the peace talks could possibly be really for ( _no one even bought up the diplomatic angle anymore_ ), how training had been today ( _in his book?  He would go for “It sucked, but was probably necessary.”_ ), and future parties.

They discussed both the party being orchestrated by Donut that no one at the table save for Grif could go to, as well as a possible future one that apparently Palomo had somehow convinced everyone else would be a fun idea when Bitters had been lost in thought.  He could hear Jensen and Volleyball laughing and could see both Grif and Smith shaking their heads as Palomo and Kaikaina debated what sort of strippers would be best for what kind of party.

Since there were no more major sounds of coughing or sputtering coming from the opposite side of Smith anymore, Bitters cast a questioning glance over at Matthews to see if he had fully recovered yet.

The second his teammate saw that Bitters was looking over in his direction, Matthews’ face turned a particularly virulent shade of red once more underneath his glasses.  His teammate quickly turned to face the opposite direction from Bitters, apparently all of a sudden finding the wall that was a few feet away from their table completely fascinating from a structural stance.

Which probably meant thanks to the whole stupid “betting pool” incident, Matthews would be awkwardly avoiding even making small talk or eye contact with him at all for probably a week at least.

_Goddamn it._

Bitters groaned in frustration at the realization, trying to think of ways he could get them back to talking again quicker if only for the sake of making rooming together not as weird.  Though he did like just hanging out with his teammate and had gotten pretty used to it as well, so there were probably a lot of different reasons why the thought of Matthews avoiding him out of embarrassment was annoying him.  The lieutenant started to legitimately wonder once again if perhaps he shouldn’t find new friends soon given all of this crap.

Not that it would really matter if Sarge decided to have him do something ridiculously suicidal later on.  Maybe he was perhaps better off not making any effort and taking his chances.

If he wasn’t dead by then, at least this whole party thing sounded like it could be marginally interesting.

*****

Kimball placed her helmet down on the desk in front of her with a heavy sigh before sitting down in the uncomfortable chair behind it, staring tiredly at the screens of datapads that littered the surface of her cramped workspace.

On the wall she noted the flashing away of one computer terminal’s screen.  She used that particular computer to end each day with a log report and it seemed as if the built-in timer for that particular task had just gone off.  The message on the screen was an inquiry about whether or not she would like to start filing her entry for the day, as though the program was afraid she’d forget despite her constant habit and figured flashing brightly in an annoying two-second pattern would be enough of an incentive for her to pay attention to it.

Honestly, though?  She couldn’t think of a damn thing to say in a log right now.

She groaned inwardly, glancing away from the terminal at the sudden traitorous thought she had of just skipping the silly thing for tonight.

A part of her berated herself for even thinking it.  After all, she had started the habit of recording entries for herself when she accepted the nomination as the leader of the Resistance so many years ago.  That had been a lifetime now, it seemed.

Things had been so chaotic back then in the wake of the Insurrection attack on Above Ground and the subsequent massacre on Level One.

The surviving members of the remaining resistance groups that had somehow managed to pull through the ordeal had formed the Resistance proper as it stood now.  It had been a nightmarish, tumultuous mess in getting there though.

There had been three people who had led in those early stages before her, whose legacies she had somehow been entrusted with.  _Good people, too, with far more experience in the field than she could ever claim to have._   She had been rather disappointed to realize that there weren’t any lasting notes from them for her to draw some semblance of guidance from.

She could hardly blame them, though, given everything that had been going on around that time.  Still, she had been desperate for some insight into what to do for the group she suddenly found herself leading.  Giving orders out on the field to small groups of comrades, she had been fine with.  Or, at the very least, learned to adapt to doing when she ended up having to do so.  Leading a large-scale movement?  That was something she knew next to nothing about, something she could never be comfortable with.

After all, Vanessa Kimball hadn’t even really wanted to be a soldier.

She had joined one of the more peaceful resistance factions when just out of her teens simply because she had believed that the people in the Slums deserved better rights.  Most people who had joined one of the resistance factions often agreed on that subject.  It was only their methods on trying to attain said rights that were quite different, which is how groups such as the Insurrection came about.

Young Kimball had felt the cause was right.  She had lost quite a bit herself due to the unfair treatment of Slums dwellers by Above Ground.  She never tried dwelling on that now.  She never really tried to discuss her past anymore either.  But, back then?  She had simply wanted to help support the resistance cause in some way.  That had been her only goal originally.

It still shocked her to think on how she had survived firefights and battles that had killed far better fighters than herself.  Almost amazed her that somehow in the heat of those panic-inducing situations she had been able to stay calm on the surface and think rationally, even as her insides had been close to turning to jelly with how terrified she’d been internally.

People had always praised her for that, after the fact.  She could only shake her head in muted disbelief.

The truth was that Vanessa Kimball had wanted to be a leader even less than she had wanted to be a soldier.

She cared about what happened to her comrades on the battlefield and that had been it.  The thought of having to run an entire army, of having to make those “tough decisions” she had always sympathized with but hated even more?  That wasn’t something she’d even remotely considered for herself.

But, no one else was left by then.  Everything had been close to collapse.  Without someone in charge, the Resistance would have been dead for sure—and its soldiers’ corpses thrown about as a reason why even stricter measures in the Slums would be necessary.  Maybe even used as an excuse for why another Level One example had to be made: she certainly hadn’t forgotten that the Insurrection had already been killed off by the time Above Ground’s Council had decided on that particular course of action.

The mourning for those lost on Level One continued, as did the mourning for comrades and friends all around her on a constant basis.

Thus she stepped into a role she still felt completely inadequate for.

Truthfully, Kimball hadn’t expected to survive as a leader for too long given how quickly the succession rate had been before she took up the position.  Many of the newer recruits didn’t even know the names of the previous leaders because of that, a fact that she still felt greatly saddened by.  Because of that, she had wanted for there to be something akin to a record for whomever her own personal successor ended up being—no matter how poorly a leader she ended up being in the end due to her lack of experience.

So, she had started keeping a log.  As the months rolled by and she somehow continued to defy the odds by continuing to not be dead, maintaining the log became something of a cathartic release for her at the end of the day.  It was a chance to review and reflect on decisions made and whether or not she felt there had been any good ones in the batch.

Truthfully, she still didn’t think of herself as much of a leader, but it helped her once more put on a good show of it the following day.

She had told Sarge about it once, after the older man had joined the Resistance: a downtrodden, disheartened Above Grounder who could no longer fight for his place of birth.  It had been shortly after she had been made the new leader, as he’d ventured into the Slums only a few weeks following her nomination.  She mentioned it to him purely out of curiosity, as she wondered if to someone with actual military experience, the notion of keeping such a log would seem to be a silly one.

Sarge had said it was more natural than she thought, so long as she didn’t start calling it a _“danged diary”_ or something else equally less army sounding.

Later on, she even suggested to some of the other soldiers that perhaps they might like to try making their own logs out as well.  She honestly wasn’t sure if they had bothered doing so or not, though she imagined some of their personal entries would be quite amusing if they had kept them up.

In that same conversation, she had also told Sarge that she considered him the logical choice for the next leader of the Resistance whenever something did end up happening to her given his personal experience.  She figured it was perhaps better to get a successor out in the open already as it had been chaos when the leader before her had been killed since he had never discussed the issue of “next in line” with anyone.The older soldier simply laughed at her suggestion.

_“If you’re dead than there’s no way I’d ever be able to replace you ‘cause I’d be dead long before with my last shotgun shell lodged in some poor bastard’s head.”_   Sarge had made it a point to joke about it and tried to avoid bringing up how when he had first met her he had accidentally called her by a different name.

Kimball knew now that it had been because she resembled one of his favorite subordinates during his military career.  One of the ones he had actually watched get killed on a mission that he knew had been a completely unnecessary one.

Sarge had actually asked her to record what had really happened then in her logs after finally telling her about it later, unusually quiet and serious for his generally boisterous attitude.  He wasn’t much into that kind of sentiment himself to keep a log personally, but she had known Sarge wanted some knowledge of what had truly happened to his subordinate to exist in case something did happen to him.

So, she certainly knew how important those logs could be, even if they seemed completely useless in other ways.

As a result, not being able to think of what to say for one now was oddly upsetting to her.

But, really, what _could_ she say?  At the moment, everything was simply playing into Chairman Hargrove and the Council’s hands.  They had their arms tied figuratively behind their backs and at the moment no one in the Resistance even knew _why_.  She actually had to desperately fight down the urge to shoot the man himself when he called for the stall earlier that day.  In a way, she’d been grateful for Tucker’s earlier actions with Washington and for seeing Church and the other Above Grounders again simply because it had been a welcome distraction for a situation that made her want to repeatedly punch something.

Powerlessness combined with a lack of knowledge was a devastating state of mind to be locked into, for _everyone_ who lived down here in the Slums.

 She frowned, brain working in overdrive to try to make sense of it all.  The Resistance leader tried almost desperately to focus on something other than her growing frustration.  Which didn’t help, unfortunately, as worst case scenarios began playing in a loop through her mind.

_“There’s really nothing we can do but play along for now like the good little puppets they seem to think we are.”_ Felix had told her quietly on the way back to base, _“Continue to leave the information gathering to small groups still, so they aren’t at a huge risk of detection.”_

The mercenary had taken his leave soon after to discuss something with Tucker.  She hoped the two could keep from getting into a shouting match with one another again.  Felix was no doubt going on his own personal information hunt now that he wasn’t needed currently for bodyguard duties thanks to the postponement.  He’d quickly become indispensable in that regard, thanks to his black market connections and his ties to various parties who weren’t as loyal to either side but kept a close watch on both all the same.

Kimball was actually rather surprised to realize just how quickly she’d become used to him always being around to discuss things with.  She was his employer, after all, so he always made it a point to be close by in case he could get her approval for an increase in his cut of specialized tech from a mission by helping out with particularly tricky assignments.  She suspected if he _did_ find something out, he’d be negotiating a price increase for the information too and, at this point in time, she would be more than willing to give it simply because they had nothing currently.

For a brief moment she thought that maybe checking in on Sarge to see how training was going and to hear his thoughts on things would help get her thoughts to focus.

She imagined his point of view would all boil down to _“This is exactly why the best diplomatic approach is just to shoot ‘em!”_ in this instance though, which was both amusing and painfully tempting right about now.

As unorthodox as he could be, the red-armored soldier had become an irreplaceable confidante to her since he’d joined.  Sometimes just having his irrational ideas to bounce her own off of was cathartic in its own way.  The two of them would often go to the target practice range just to have discussions and also so that he could show her how he personally liked to blow off steam.  Sarge did complain a bit that she requested they shoot at something _beyond_ Holo-Grifs when they did so, but he eventually relented.

Not to mention, Sarge was right: sometimes shooting things _was_ mighty relaxing.

 At the very least, she’d be doing something instead of just mulling over things dejectedly and getting even more stressed.

There was a light knock on the doorframe and she glanced up, having not even realized that the door had slid open.  She was surprised to see former Freelancer agent North Dakota standing there, his pale blue eyes regarding her apologetically.

“Sorry,” North glanced over at the timer and question prompt still flashing annoyingly on the screen of her wall terminal, “Didn’t realize you were in the middle of something.”

Her back straightened and she waved a dismissive hand over the datapads on her desk.  The info found on them disappearing as they powered down. Kimball had looked over them so often that, by now, she could probably review their information from memory in her sleep whenever she was finally able to get some rest in the future.

“I’m not.  Not really.  I was just going over some things from today.” She stood up and walked to the terminal, for the moment canceling the prompt to start her log.

“I can imagine.” North regarded her sympathetically, a slight smile on his face, “Things got quite lively, I hear.”

“An understatement.” Her smile in response was a wry one, “I suppose no one can blame them for wanting to let loose a little steam after that, huh?”

She had a feeling he already knew about the whole party event that Donut had orchestrated.  Word of mouth spread quickly at the base, especially when it wasn’t really much of a secret to begin with.  Donut was quite excited about it, after all.  She could just picture the younger man telling pretty much anyone willing to listen about it.

“Not in the slightest.  I think it should be good for them.” There was a warm light in his eyes then, as he thought of something else, “Actually, Tucker and C.T. seem to be on friendlier terms now too which I’m glad for.”

North always did have a tendency to look out for his comrades.  The tenseness between his former teammate and her new team member had been one he had especially not enjoyed seeing over the last few months, she recalled.  North seemed the sort to prefer his friends getting along if they could.

She’d always liked that trait in the former Freelancer.  Personally, she could also understand it quite a bit as she always emphasized training in group dynamics.  In a way, that common ground had helped the two of them develop a good working relationship rather quickly when the first three Freelancer defectors had arrived at one of the previous Resistance bases.

She glanced over at him, noting how he was back in armor now.  When she’d seen him, Tex, and York before the peace talks had begun all three had been dressed in plain civilian clothes for their assigned roles.

The former Freelancers certainly moved quickly.  It seemed they were always prepared for the next move.  They were quite efficient that way.

“I was just about to start on my patrol like York did, as per orders.” North seemed to pick up on the meaning behind her look easily enough, “Tex is on standby.”

She nodded, mouth pressing into a thin line, “Good.  Felix is heading out as well.  I was just about to inform Sarge of things and get ready to tighten regular patrols.”

They maybe wouldn’t be sending out large patrols to collect intelligence at the moment, but that didn’t mean they were going to be careless enough to not be more cautious about security around the base or the Slums in general.

There was no such thing as a free moment for too long down here, after all.

The dark-skinned woman was almost envious of Tucker and the others for their brief respite—though she knew everyone deserved it.  Actually, in their own way, the party group was also helping by keeping up the appearance to the Council that perhaps the Resistance wasn’t being as cautious about the situation as they actually were.  She personally viewed any kind of action that could lull the higher-ups of Above Ground into a sense of complacency was a potentially vital one.

Maybe, once things had settled here, she would try to ensure everyone else had a moment’s rest too.  It would be nice if it were possible, at least.

The blonde nodded in response to her statement, turning to leave once more.

Before he completely disappeared down the corridor though, North turned back to the office again.  A new thought seemed to have crossed his mind as he showed off a self-deprecating smile, “I wouldn’t mind having some support on my patrol though.  My close combat skills aren’t quite as polished as they used to be.”

Right.  On account of his past injury.

Kimball was about to point out that North Dakota still bested most of the Resistance fighters in hand-to-hand combat regardless and that this was more of a surveillance run besides, but then she noticed that the blonde was glancing at the terminal behind her again.

He would have considered it far too impolite and improper given her rank to say that staying cooped up in there with thoughts that only made her more exasperated wasn’t going to help the situation.  Knowing her, she would stay up all night doing just that once everything else had been taken care of.  Hell, that was even why she’d been hoping to talk to Sarge to a degree as well!  She knew damn well he had already been tightening patrols the moment this whole debacle had begun on top of training the lieutenants.

The former Freelancer was offering her the chance to do something else instead, something that would probably be more productive in the long run.  Information was vital, after all, and the chance to go out on patrol given her status in the Resistance was usually far too rare.  She didn’t want to risk her subordinates on an as-of-yet unknown threat if she could avoid it.  Since this was an intelligence gathering mission only, risk avoidance was key.

Doing something was far better than doing nothing, especially given the day of doing absolutely nothing she had just been forced to endure thanks to Hargrove and the Council’s little game.

Kimball smiled gratefully, a spark of energy jolting through her tired brown eyes for the very first time that day, “I think I could have you covered there, North.”

Hopefully, if nothing else, by the end of tonight she would finally have something she felt like reporting in her log.

*****

“That’s about it.”

Church paused then, having just summarized the way-too-fucked up last couple of hours of his life over the comm-link channel.

Well, _almost_ all of it.  He decided to avoid mentioning any of the relationship drama crap because living through that goddamned bullshit once was torturous enough without having to relive it.  Besides, he sincerely doubted that Carolina would have any patience for that kind of thing whatsoever.  He also avoided mentioning Tex at all because he wasn’t _that_ fucking stupid and he sort of wanted to live past this forced trip.

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line.  Church really couldn’t tell if the silence was because Carolina suspected that he had omitted some details and was annoyed.  She wasn’t too keen on people keeping secrets from her, though she was more than fine and dandy with doing that herself ( _again, he wasn’t stupid enough to call her out on that though_ ).  Or maybe the quiet was because she was simply processing the information he had given her.

“Carolina?” Church asked, not sure if she would be mad at the intrusion into whatever she was probably thinking or not, “You catch all of that?  Because I do _not_ want to fucking repeat it.”

He could have sworn he heard her sigh then.  His lack of protocol when it came to communicating during missions did seem to always exasperate her slightly, _“Yeah, Church.  I got it.”_

Silence followed her response for a good four minutes.

He tapped a foot impatiently when it continued to linger after that, “And…?”

_“And what?”_

Goddamn it!  She sounded _bored_.

He guessed everything was probably super-trivial to her compared to whatever highly classified shenanigans she was getting herself into.

Church could feel a whole new headache coming on, “Any thoughts you might be willing to share on this whole fucked up situation?”

Silence again.  He honestly would not have been at all surprised if Carolina had just disconnected the line.  She did that on occasion whenever she didn’t feel a conversation was worth her time.

Finally though, the Freelancer spoke up, _“The stall doesn’t surprise me, so I am afraid if you were expecting that you will be sorely disappointed.  The Council is trying to buy itself time.”_

“For fucking _what_ , exactly?” The Above Ground soldier could feel his frustration growing.

_“Whatever it is they’re up to.  It isn’t for you to know.”_ She spoke with such finality then that Church knew if he argued with his cousin over it he would more than likely very much end up regretting it.

Carolina and her goddamned secrets!

He sighed, deciding to change his line of questioning, “Okay, then.  What about the other thing I mentioned?”

_“You mean the party?”_

Oh, fuck it!  Now she almost sounded _amused_.  That was never a good sign.

“It’s a stupid idea, right?” He asked, probably making it very obvious what he was hoping her response would be given his tone.

Church had been kind of hoping that she would be so against it considering her usual stick-in-the-mud attitude and protocol focus that she would order them not to go.  Then he’d have a legitimate excuse not to have to deal with the whole issue himself.  He had _not_ counted on what he was quickly discovering was his cousin’s rather sadistic sense of humor poking through at his expense right about now.

“If you don’t think it is a smart move, I’ll—“

_“Your team wants to go, I take it?”_ She cut him off abruptly, _“The Council will have no grounds to object to it given what they just pulled.”_

His hope was sinking fast.

“Yeah, but—”

_“Go be with your team, Church.”_ His cousin advised, sounding rather serious once more, _“Keep an eye on things.  Make sure nothing bad happens.”_

She was right, as much as he hated to admit it.  Church was the team leader, after all.  Though, some days, he really wanted to vote to see if someone else wanted the damn job.  Technically he should go just to make sure nothing worse than someone getting wasted and vomiting all over their shoes happened.

Fucking responsibility sucked.

“Yeah, yeah.” he muttered, knowing there was no point in arguing about it anymore.

Another thought crossed his mind though almost immediately after that, “What are you going to be doing?”

Carolina had brought all of them down here and then just up and disappeared without explaining why.  She was completely nonplussed about the whole stall business too.  He didn’t have to think too hard on those points to know that she was probably very much aware of something much larger occurring beneath the surface.

_“Nothing you need to know about, Church.”_

He was tempted to start grumbling under his breath about fucking annoying Freelancers, but decided it would be safer for himself to sigh instead, “Fine.  I probably don’t want to know anyways.”

_“More than likely, yes.”_ She didn’t elaborate any further.

“Just…be careful, okay?” He frowned, not quite comfortable with sentimental talk but feeling like he had to say something, “It would kind of suck if you died out there and no one knew about it.”

There was a heavy silence following his statement.  He wondered if she had disconnected the line this time or was just too pissed to talk.  There was a very large possibility she could somehow have misinterpreted his worried comment as being some sort of veiled insult about her capabilities.  A lot of the time, it was hard to tell how she would read things.

“Carolina?”

_“Thanks for the concern, Church.  I’ll try to get back in one piece.”_

There was an odd curtness in her voice even for her when she said that, and then the connection abruptly cut off as she chose to end the conversation.

Church stared at the hotel wall for a few moments, frowning.

Had he said something _that_ weird, or was that Carolina just being Carolina?  He knew displaying affection wasn’t exactly something their family particularly excelled at.

Or it could just be another sign that he really just _sucked_ at giving semi-motivational pep talks.

“Agent Carolina is a lot like Agent Tex, isn’t she?”

He jumped at the sound of Sheila’s voice, having not realized the robot had been standing in the doorway of his and Doc’s hotel room—where he’d gone to contact Carolina in private.

He grinned: “Yeah, do me a favor, Sheila, and try not to mention that in front of her _ever_.  Okay?”

The robot made a noise that could almost be something akin to a scoff, “Please, Church, I was merely making an observation.  I am not self-destructive.”

Church raised a black eyebrow, “Oh?  Is that why you waited until after the comm-link was closed to talk?”

A nod.  His friend always was the polite one, and probably the smartest one in their team when it came to reading social cues as well.  Admittedly that was probably kind of sad given how she wasn’t actually human, but fuck it!  Church could barely tolerate most people, so like hell was he going to go out of his way to act on proper social protocol around them.

“It is good to know that we have her permission for the party.” She said, “Doc and Simmons are both very excited.”

“I’ll bet.” He rolled his eyes.

Doc being excited didn’t surprise him in the slightest given the purple medic’s usual desire to be friendly and social to everyone.  While Simmons wasn’t much of a party person and still didn’t seem to think it was a necessarily smart idea, Church knew Grif was going to go to the party.  Of course the maroon nerd would want to go too.

It was always a bit harder to tell with Sheila, but she seemed highly excited as well at the moment.

Church sighed when he picked up on that and realized what it probably meant, “Lopez is going too, isn’t he?”

Great.  He was going to have to deal with all of the relationship shit again.  He could feel his brain about to explode already.

“Yes, he said he is looking forward to seeing how foolish everyone gets when alcohol is involved.” She tilted her helmeted head slightly in the way she always did when she was in a contemplative mood, “I admit I am rather curious about that myself.

There were footsteps running up to the doorway then, a dark-skinned woman in white armor with purple trim suddenly appearing there behind Sheila.  She sounded slightly out of breath given how quickly she’d raced over from who-knows-where, an odd sort of light shining in her dark eyes.

“Did I just hear someone talking about a party with alcohol?  I love observing what alcohol poisoning does to the human body! “ The woman exclaimed and then Church sort of recognized her as one of the army doctors who had been assigned to the peace talks, “Especially the brain and liver.  I have some pictures if you want to see!”

“That would be most informative.” Sheila inclined her head somewhat politely, “Thank you, Doctor Grey.”

Ah, so that was her name then.  Figures that Sheila would know given her access to personnel records.

“No need to thank me.  It’s always fun to share if someone’s curious!” Doctor Grey grinned, “But, I wouldn’t mind an invite to wherever you guys are going!  Strictly for observational reasons, mind you.  Totally not thinking on taking DNA samples without consent, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why would we fucking think that?” Church asked, not entirely sure he even wanted to know the answer to that given her earlier remarks.

“Oh, you know how quickly unfair rumors spread after one wild night at medical school!” She shrugged before conspiratorially whispering, “It was all blown way out of proportion if you ask me.”

Church sighed and shook his head before turning to Sheila, “You know, something tells me a _shitload_ of booze is going to be needed to make this night remotely enjoyable.”

He then pretended that he didn’t hear Doctor Grey’s excited exclamation at his statement, preferring instead to wonder what he’d ever done to deserve this much crazy in his life.

*****

Traversing tunnels would never count as a highlight of York’s life since his defection.  A necessary one, yes.  Necessity didn’t always equate to enjoyment though.

It sucked even more when he had to do it by himself, while also having to be as stealthy as possible.

He could _do_ stealth.  He could do it pretty awesomely actually, especially now that D wasn’t around to try to talk to enemies using “logic” even though he missed the company more than he’d care to admit.

However, being stealthy in tunnels meant that he had to carefully pick his way through debris-filled hazard zones with hindered vision while also trying to keep his attention focused for any noises echoing around him.  He found that it was rather difficult considering that most corridors were rather naturally noisy.  Someone had to always strain their ears to try to discern between what was “typical tunnel noises” and the “obviously-someone-else-is-stomping-through-here” ones.

It was even more of a challenge when you didn’t know what exactly you were looking for to begin with.  Or if you were even remotely going in the right direction.

He wondered if North was having anymore luck on his end, or if the patrols that Sarge had been arranging had been finding anything closer to home.

With any luck, _someone_ was bound to find out what the Council was so intent on if it was down here.

Hell, the mining tunnels and shafts were huge and seemed to go on forever.  He sincerely doubted even the Above Grounders had found whatever it was they were trying to find, given the shenanigans they pulled in order to postpone the talks.

As York approached the rather disturbingly and atypical dead quiet of Tunnel 32-A, he was doubting very much that he would be the one to find anything.  He almost smiled nostalgically then despite himself, remembering the first time they’d met Caboose’s killer robot dog near here.

The expanse of tunnel before him was almost completely dark, the power having never been restored to this area after the mining uprising so long ago.

A massacre that had just been a front for Above Ground military to search for alien tech in the tunnels.

It was odd to think that the present seemed to be mirroring that past event in a way.  Maybe it _was_ about alien tech now too!  Wouldn’t that just be a kick to the balls?

The former Freelancer just really hoped that the outcome would be far different for the Slums this time.

Considering how turning on a light might negate any potential stealth angle, going in blind ( _he found the phrase sort of funny given who was searching_ ) was probably the only option York had.  Though he supposed night vision would help a little, at least.

Fun times, given the potential instability of the looming corridor if his memory was serving him correctly, as well as the huge amounts of rubble and trash that had been left in there.

Would it be all that stealthy if he fell flat on his face after tripping on a rock?

It was bad enough going in.  It was going to majorly suck getting back out.

York sighed, figuring it was better to just get it over with.  There were a lot of interconnecting tunnels and shafts that were not in frequent use around 32-A, after all.  It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that _something_ worth sneaking through the tunnels for could still exist in them.

The former Freelancer took a few steps forward into the darkness, only to stop short at the sudden appearance of a glowing green miniature figure floating directly in front of his face.

“Hello, York.” Delta’s calm voice greeted him, “It is a pleasure meeting you again.”

“Whoa!” York nearly jumped back in surprise, “D?  What the hell are you doing here, what about Caro—“

There was the all too familiar sound of a safety being removed close to the back of his helmet.  York swore, remembering his earlier random thought tangent on how Delta had often tried using reason against opponents: a trait York himself had learned as his partner to take full advantage of on several occasions.

“Caught on just a little too late, York.” Carolina’s voice almost had a chiding tone to it, though she took on a sharper edge when adding, “You might need to spend more time working on that.”

He winced.  Couldn’t really argue with her there: “Noted.”

“My apologies, York.” Delta chimed in, seemingly sincere for all the good it did now that York had a gun pointed at the back of his skull, “It seemed a prudent way to speed things along.”

“Yeah.  It was a really great one.” York glared at the green little cockbite, suddenly remembering how he could both like and get exasperated by his former A.I. partner at the same time.

Sighing, York held his hands up in the air to showcase that he wasn’t about to try anything.

“Are you guys going to talk this time or just knock me out again?” He asked, only partially joking, “Because I really need to get insurance if that’s how things will go down every time we meet from here on out.”

Seriously.  There was only so much a man’s heart, and the rest of his inner organs, could take.

“So long as you don’t try to get in my way this time, we’re good.” Carolina lowered her weapon marginally.  It was no large comfort though: she could shoot him easily enough still or kick his ass before he could even blink all the same.  They both knew it.

“Really.” He glanced at the two of them skeptically as Delta flickered over to hover next to the shoulder of his new partner.  York wasn’t actually sure if the A.I. had been implanted in Carolina or was just making use of the storage compartment of her armor.  It was hard to tell currently with what little info he had on their whole new arrangement.

Maybe this was just a dream?  Maybe the tunnel had actually collapsed, knocked him out, and he was having a hallucination as he slowly suffocated.  Although York was pretty sure he would have noticed at least something out of the ordinary beforehand if that was truly the case.

“We’re not here under orders from anyone, York.” The woman in cyan armor said quietly, “Not this time, at any rate.”

He frowned, “But, the talks—”

“A very obvious distraction tactic, don’t you agree?” His former A.I. partner spoke up.

 “Easy enough to sneak in a few specialized mercenaries into the tunnels to look for something during them.” The leader of the Freelancers muttered.  York could imagine her green eyes narrowing in thought under her helmet.

“You aren’t going along with this then?  Freelancer isn’t?” He frowned, genuinely confused.

“Not much left of Freelancer, York.” She was smiling bitterly, he was sure of that from her tone, “You should know that.”

“Carolina…” He wasn’t sure what to say to that.  He awkwardly reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped himself just before doing so.  With Carolina he was unsure if such a gesture would be appreciated or if it would result in him getting flipped onto his backside.

She cut to the chase then, clearly having decided it wasn’t a good time for either of them to get overly personal: “Hargrove has been consolidating power from within the Council for years, and made a very big move just recently with it.  I think it’s a smart move to try to figure out just why.”

There had to be more to it than that for Carolina to act as she was.  York could tell.  Still, he had the feeling if he asked directly she would push him away completely.  At the moment, it was nice just having her around without getting his ass kicked for once.

He looked to Delta to see if his friend would offer him any kind of hint or clue as to what else was going on, but the A.I. pointedly looked to the ground to avoid meeting his gaze.

_That green little cockbite!_

York would have to just hope that maybe they would be willing to tell him more later.  If Carolina didn’t decide to knock him out cold again, that is.

He knew Carolina had never been the easy-to-trust type.  Sadly, given everything that had happened in their past it seemed that the wall she put up between herself and everyone else was infinitely larger now.

“Whatever Hargrove’s reasons are, no one living down here will come out the better for it.” The former Freelancer surmised, deciding to not focus on what they weren’t telling him and instead getting to the point as well.

“It is very likely to be less than beneficial to most living in Above Ground also.” Delta spoke up quietly in his matter-of-fact tone.

“Right.  The Council has been tightening its grip everywhere, huh?”

He’d seen the reports, of course.  They all had.  It was important to keep up to date with what Above Ground was doing.

“We’re wasting time.” Carolina was all business, as she always was whenever it came to missions.  She hadn’t been at the top of the leader board for nothing: “The ones we were tracking couldn’t have gone far.”

He perked up at what she said, quite curious himself now, “Who are they?”

“Mercenaries that Hargrove hired.” She was starting to walk into the darkness of 32-A as if she knew exactly where she was going, “Wyoming is with them.”

“W—Wyoming?”

He had attacked them when they had defected along with Tex.  York remembered how his former teammate had still tried getting a knock-knock joke out during that time as if everything that had been going on was completely normal.

Wyoming had also apparently tried killing North and Washington a year ago.

Still, hearing that remark said from Carolina so dispassionately was surprising in a way.  How long had she known about it then, if she wasn’t acting that upset by his obvious outside activity from Freelancer?

 She regarded York with a sideways glance for a moment as if unsure of how to process his reaction before moving on, “Like I said, there’s not much left of Freelancer anymore.”

He really couldn’t argue with her there, and he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to comment on the almost pained way she had said that remark.

So, York did the only thing he could think to do then: he followed her, tripping and stumbling all the way over bits of rock and metal that seemed specifically to be put in his path to make him look completely ridiculous until he was finally able to match her stride.

“Mind if I tag along then, since our goals seem the same right now?”

She glanced over at him again and said nothing.  He was somewhat afraid that she would reject him completely once more.  Maybe slam him into the wall or something to keep him from following her.

Instead, when she did speak up at last after a few tense moments of silence, she almost sounded amused, “Sure.  For as long as you can keep up, that is.”

Not anything permanent, but it was a _start_.  He grinned, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at her joke.

“My stamina has always been pretty good, you know.” York joked back, the innuendo completely intended for laughs.

He could almost picture her rolling her eyes, and he wondered if maybe another joke might be appropriate too.

Delta flickered back into existence close by both of them, “Actually, York, according to all of your physical examination reports you were always ranked tenth in stamina while Agent Carolina—“

Leave it to Delta to still not have developed a sense of humor.

He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation, “D, I’ve really missed you.  But, if you don’t shut up right now, I am going to find a way to mute you.”

York knew this situation it was only temporary at best.  He knew that he’d _have_ to bring up some of the really tough and most likely painful questions that were floating through his head right now before this whole thing was over.  Despite knowing that though and not being sure what the fuck they would find out Hargrove was after down here, for one brief moment York felt almost downright elated.

He hadn’t felt that way in a good long while.

Hell, York couldn’t even stop the dopey grin from forming on his face as Delta started explaining just how his joking threat of silencing the A.I. would be utterly impossible to accomplish.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Dang, sorry for the longer wait! This chapter became seriously longer than I thought it would be, so I figured I would just split it into parts whenever it seemed like it was getting to have a lot of sections in it.
> 
> This chapter ended up being more set-up than I thought it would be as it turned out I had more of that left to do than I apparently thought, and we now have a Kimball perspective to boot (mainly because she will be getting pretty prominent in future portions of the story!). Hopefully I did her character justice! Btw, you can thank my sister for the North and her interaction: she thought it would be neat if they became friends in the fic, and once she said that I got an idea so I decided to start putting in friendship moments for the two of them (orz, Kimball probably could use a friend XD).
> 
> Felt kind of weird to have a chapter where there weren’t any Grif or Simmons POV sections (Grif in particular since he’s kind of my main character! :D), but no worries! There will be lots of Grimmons and other pairings in the chapters to come and Grif is back to more or less main character status in the next chapter! :D
> 
> You’ll probably be getting one or more chapters somewhat quickly following this one since I am just dividing a huge humongous story section into smaller portions. :D
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter at least, and stay tuned for the next part! :D Thank you very much for reading. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Fourteen:

Dexter Grif found that there were a lot of things on his mind as he walked through the crowded pathways of Level Four with Donut, Tucker, Lopez, and Caboose to their intended destination.

First and foremost?  Just how fucking _smart_ of a decision this actually was to begin with.

Granted, these particular Above Ground guys were far from harmful unless put in really crappy situations like what had happened last year, so he wasn’t overly concerned with that.  Actually, he found that he genuinely _trusted_ them given what had happened with that Locus douche during the siege.  But, who knows?

Trusting specific individuals didn’t necessarily mean other Above Grounders who might be around the place weren’t going to be dicks all the same.  If they were infiltrating other areas of the Slums then just Level One during these “peace talks” they’d probably be a _lot_ less likely to make it obvious they were doing it.

Grif knew that was even one of the main reasons why Tucker had thought it best to leave Junior back at the base for the time being: security had been heightened there ever since they’d had to move to the new location.  It had probably even tripled since all of the drama and tenseness over the talks had begun.

If something _were_ to happen in either the mining tunnels or the Slums proper, Junior was far better protected there than anywhere else.  Added to that was the fact that Junior _could_ defend himself pretty well even at his young age.  Plus, his current babysitter was a fucking former Freelancer _and_ one of his dad’s teammates was a giant killer assault droid.

Yeah, odds were pretty good that the alien kid was going to be just fine.

Hell, Grif was more than a little grateful during this whole incident that Kai _had_ decided to join the Resistance since that also meant she would be staying more or less on base for the time being.  Rare occasion, that, and he sincerely doubted the opinion would last long whenever firefights and the like started up again.

But, he also knew that there was most likely going to be a lull in hostile activity in general during the “peace talks.”  _At least_ up until those Council assholes found whatever it was they were looking for and they were out of harm’s way.

The Council had made such a big fucking show of the whole thing, to the point that it was very unlikely they’d want to ruin it at the moment.  After all, they had no qualms before about mass murdering Slums civilians if it served an agenda for them.  They certainly weren’t of the mindset of holding back against the Resistance whenever it came to altercations with them normally either.

Besides, Kimball had given her consent for the outing.  It was probably always best to stay prudent and be cautious, but Grif wasn’t exactly one to pass up the opportunity to at least _try_ to relax if he could.  In his opinion, the occasions when commanding officers gave permission for a night of relaxation and drinking were way too few and far between.

Plus, there was a fifty-fifty chance that Simmons would be there.

The red-haired Above Grounder had been reluctant about the whole thing, questioning how logical a party was for similar reasoning as Grif had listed in his earlier thoughts ( _though he did it better because he wasn’t, you know, a nerd who worried too much about everything to begin with_ ).

That hesitancy mixed with the fact that Grif knew his friend wasn’t very comfortable in forced social interactions made the potential sight of Simmons there something he _really_ did not want to pass up.

After all, a party was pretty well above Simmons’ comfort level.

He imagined it would be an amusing experience and rife with potential teasing moments.  In Grif’s eyes, teasing moments always seemed to be good ways to strengthen bonds: he did it all the time with Tucker and Kai, after all!

Hell, he was fairly certain that it was largely thanks to the mutual teasing both he and Simmons used to break the ice early on in their friendship that it had become as surprisingly strong as it had.

Besides, on a slightly less mischievous note that delved far more into personal matters he didn’t really want to dwell on all that much, who knew how long these talks would be going on for anyways?  Grif wanted to spend as much time with Simmons as he could before things had to go back to usual.

Hopefully, for all concerned, this time the parting wouldn’t be nearly as dramatic.

His other major worry about the party was largely that his pink-armored and always-far-too-cheerful teammate Franklin Delano Donut was its main mastermind.

That wasn’t to say that Donut didn’t know how to pull off pretty impressive get-togethers, even if Grif attempted to dismiss them as “lame” if only to curb some of his younger teammate’s enthusiasm.  Seriously, so much perky so early in the morning when not under the influence of caffeine and copious amounts of sugar was all sorts of disturbing in his book!

The events his teammate planned were usually quite entertaining and lively in their own ways even if it wasn’t always Grif’s personal kind of party.  Although, Donut _was_ a great cook and had learned to let his orange-armored teammate wander away to sleep off the large amounts of food he’d eaten with a smile after a couple hours had passed.  Grif always counted those particular moments as highlights which, arguably, fit more for his “kind of party.”

So, in the end, he usually did always enjoy himself at Donut’s parties and now he was kind of bummed Donut wouldn’t be cooking this time around.

The Resistance fighter supposed that so long as “Officer Hot Pants” didn’t make an appearance at any point whatsoever during this outing it wouldn’t be too bad.

It could possibly be pleasant even, once Donut decided to just let everyone do whatever they wanted after he had gone through the list of fun party activities he seemed to carry with him everywhere.

Though the club’s name did have Grif a little worried.  Leave it to his baby sister to apparently frequent a bar called the “Randy Offering.”

He supposed it was meant to be clever, but honestly?  He was surprised it _wasn’t_ the place where the orgy had happened.

Naturally, Tucker had snickered like a little kid when he heard the name.  Lopez muttered something sarcastically in Spanish while Donut quipped about another place he had heard about called “Tops and Bottoms.”

So, clearly, the point of the name had been lost on the younger soldier and Grif once again really wasn’t sure how to process that apparently Kai had been to _that_ particular bar too.

He could picture in his head how horribly red Simmons’ face had looked when he had heard the name from Kai.  Grif had to fight the urge to smile slightly at the memory, though he kind of failed at it as the corners of his mouth curved slightly upwards all the same.

The action was not at all lost on his childhood friend, though.

“Are you really _that_ eager to see your husband again?” Tucker joked, the grin on his face practically a mile wide, “Dude, your sister is right.  The two of you should just make it fucking official.”

“Shut up, Tucker.” He felt his face get slightly warm, as it usually always did nowadays whenever Tucker or Kai’s comments went in that direction.

“Just saying.  You two are already pretty domestic.”

He rolled his eyes, “You do realize the second you start trying to flirt with someone I am going to come over and say something horribly embarrassing about you, right?”

His friend snorted, “Please, as if you could possibly ruin my chances with the ladies.”

Grif was oh-so-tempted to point out to Tucker that his “chances” with the ladies were pretty much always next to nil, even without Grif saying or doing anything to wreck them.

No sooner would Tucker utter a way-too-corny pickup line than said ladies in question would either kick him in the groin, punch him in the face, or poor a drink on top of his head—or any combination thereof.  But, he figured maybe it was better for his friend to not be reminded of that just yet.

It would certainly prove more entertaining for himself in the long run, if nothing else.

Level Four wasn’t as spacious or as state-of-the-art as Level One was, but it was still well and above the very often extremely claustrophobic and crowded spaces of Low Town.

There were more businesses here in general, and a bit more of a sense of pride was shown in the upkeep of the streets and public spaces where those businesses happened to housed.  Made sense, in a way, given how shops and restaurants here had to charge more for their products due to increased rent and taxes.

Make the establishments and spaces presentable to get people to think that your products and services were worth that extra bit more you were charging for them.  Sure, the business owners a few levels below were selling close to the same thing at a cheaper price, but they were in slightly dingier stores!

Grif had made quite a few delivery rounds for people living here before he had joined the Resistance.  It had also always been one of Kai’s favorite levels to window-shop in, so he was rather familiar with the area.

Even still, he would have probably had an incredibly hard time finding his way through the maze of smaller side-streets and alleyways to get to their destination.

Donut and Tucker, both lifelong Slums residents as well, seemed to also have a hard time keeping track of where exactly they were going.  Both would consult the map that Kai had drown out on a coaster in confusion every so often.

“Sabes que tengo un sistema incorporado en la unidad de navegación, ¿verdad? Es una de las pocas cosas útiles al hombre viejo loco me dio.” _{“You know I have a built-in navigation unit, right?  It’s one of the few useful things the crazy old man gave me.”}_

Apparently even Lopez decided to comment on the situation after their tenth such stop to look at the “map.”  Though what the robot said was anyone’s guess, save maybe Donut.

“I agree, Lopez, it _is_ a great night for a walk!” Donut said cheerily, before frowning and tilting the coaster to the side as if that would somehow magically help make him understand its scribbled-down contents better, “Though I do wish we had an easier time of knowing where we were going.”

“Oh, joder.” _{Oh, for fuck’s sake.”}_

The robot was sighing and shaking his head.

“Walking is great.” Caboose chimed in.

He didn’t really have as much knowledge of the Slums given how he wasn’t born there and spent most of his time at the base, so Caboose had been rather quiet during their previous exchange: “So is running.  And standing.  And sitting.” He nodded cheerfully, “Napping is the best though.”

“I’m with you there, buddy.” For once, something Caboose said actually made a Hell of a lot of sense to Grif.

“A veces me gustaría tener un modo de espera. Sería muy útil para momentos como este.” _{“Sometimes I wish I had a sleep mode.  It would come in handy for moments like this.”}_

Eventually though, as they followed Donut’s interpretation of the instructions, the alleyways became dingier and dingier.  It seemed that the more “reputable” shops were the ones on the main streets apparently, as everywhere else in Level Four appeared to be more or less the same as any other place in the Slums. 

It was most likely simply out of luck more than anything else that they finally came to the bar.

The building was a relatively large one wedged between two other businesses that looked to be closed and boarded up for the night.  It seemed plain and unobtrusive on the outside, save for the opaque shade of the windows to keep prying eyes from seeing anything going on within.  It was only polite to go in and purchase a drink first, after all.

The music blasting through the walls to the path outside was of the loud techno-rave variety all clubs seemed to like exploding eardrums with.  No wonder it was situated in an area where no residential places were present: it was the only way to avoid noise complaints unless you actually chose to turn the sound down.  What self-respecting bar would do that?

The only indication that told them they were in the right place was the smallish sign hanging above the door.  Beyond the people stumbling around as if they’d already been having a good time, of course.  The sign was a holographic one meant to resemble a classic neon light one from the far past of Old Earth: retro never went out of style.

It would flash “Randy” in green lettering, then “Offering” in blue, and following that in yellow…

Grif swore under his breath, “Goddamn it, Kai!”

“Uh, well, isn’t _that_ artistic of them?!” Donut marveled, always one to try to put a positive spin on things if he could.

“Tucker, it looks like they are doing one of those things from those clips you have that you told me not to watch!  Or mention.” Caboose exclaimed at the sight of the male and female figures that flashed by in a very compromising position for only two seconds.

Tucker looked amused, raising an eyebrow at the display, “Guess we know what caught Kai’s eye about this place, huh?” His grin widened, “Looks fun.”

 “¿No sería más antihigiénico que ver que en un lugar que sirve bebidas?” _{“Wouldn’t it be unhygienic to do that in a place that serves beverages?”}_

Yeah, Grif was definitely going to have a talk with his sister about her favorite hangout spots after this.

The door opened wide just then and a scowling Leonard Church glared at the group with obvious annoyance, “Took you guys fucking long enough!” He growled out, not even bothering to hide the fact that his expression clearly stated that he would probably prefer being anywhere _but_ there, “It would be pretty pathetic if you guys got lost when you’re from here.”

“Hey, Church!” Caboose waved happily at his “friend” while the Above Grounder chose to ignore him.

“Oh, fuck off, Church.” Tucker was already heading inside, the others following after him, “We were just admiring the sign.”

“Yeah, this is a fucking classy establishment you have here.” Church remarked sarcastically, “The puke in the bathroom is a nice touch too.”

“They don’t have cesspools in Above Ground?” Grif couldn’t help but bite back.

He shrugged, “Probably.  I’ve just never been dragged to one of them before.”

“Can’t imagine why.  Who wouldn’t want to have you around?” Tucker quipped, “You’re the real life of the party.”

Church gave him the finger, “Shove it.”

“Yep.  Really big mystery why you’re never invited anywhere.” Tucker smirked, his remark causing the Above Grounder to roll his eyes.

The interior of the club and bar was even larger than the outside would have one believe.  Grif wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been some kind of warehouse earlier on during the Slums’ history as a mining colony, now completely refurnished for entertainment needs.

There was a large bar in the back of the warehouse-like area, and stools and tables lined the walls everywhere.  Open space was in the middle of the bar for mingling, and a few pool tables and games of chance were scattered here and there.  He even spotted a derelict antique pinball machine.

Music was blasting into the building from speakers built into the walls every few meters from one another, which helped increase the sound intensity quite a lot.

The other members of Church’s team had been hanging nearby the entrance along with their designated leader, evidently looking out for the Resistance members through the windows.  Getting a closer look, Grif noted that there were two new faces amongst them as well.

A woman with dark skin and a cheerful look in her eyes regarded them all in a way that reminded Grif of Sarge somehow whenever he was tinkering with Lopez, “Are these your friends from the Resistance?” She asked.

Church nodded, “I _guess_ you can call them that.”

“Aw, thanks for the love!” Tucker replied sarcastically, turning his attention completely to the female in their midst, “And you must be tired from always running through my mind.”

Church flashed a _“Are you fucking kidding me?”_ look over at Grif, who nodded sadly in response.

“That’s cute!  If you ever get shot, I’ll stitch you up even if you’re on the other side!” She grinned, “Just ask for Doctor Grey.”

Her way too gleeful-sounding response at the prospect of him getting shot seemed to have Tucker backing off pretty quickly, a very much freaked out look on his face.

The blond-haired man that had been standing nearby sighed and shook his head in an exasperated fashion at the interaction, “Real smooth there, Tucker.”

Grif’s friend blinked at the voice, taking in the man’s appearance.  When the Above Grounder raised an eyebrow at Tucker in almost mild amusement at his trying to figure out who he was, apparently the identity of the stranger clicked in Tucker’s mind.

“No fucking way!  _Washington_?” He said in obvious disbelief, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Funny, I asked him the same damn thing.” Church muttered, glaring at the blond-haired man as if he was an unwelcome intruder.

Judging by the defunct province name, Grif was guessing Washington was a Freelancer, though he had no fucking clue how he and Tucker knew one another.

Washington glared back at Church for only a second before regarding Tucker again, apparently not quite sure what to make of the fact that the Resistance fighter was still gaping at him in shock, “It’s not exactly like this is my idea of a fun night either.  Believe me.” His gray gaze had fallen over the Above Grounders following that comment, which seemed to annoy Church even more.

“We don’t need a goddamned babysitter!”

“That remains to be seen.” His tone was clipped and even in his response.

“Hey, now!  Let’s not get into any fights, okay?” The glasses-wearing Doc interjected quickly, raising his hands in what was probably meant to be a pacifying gesture, “Let’s all just take deep, calming breaths.”

“Yeah, there’s more than enough time to get hot and bothered later on!” Donut added in agreement.

Washington sighed then, caught off-guard by Donut’s odd phrasing, “I don’t…think you meant it that way.”

“One can never tell with him.” Tucker interjected, “Best to just ignore it.”

The Freelancer looked doubtful, but before he could say anything else in response Caboose was excitedly talking to both him and Church about what he’d done over the week.  It was as if in Caboose’s head before earlier that day it hadn’t technically been a year since they’d last seen each other.

So, it looked like Caboose knew Washington too.  Interesting.  Grif would have to pry Tucker for details later, since it was only fair given all the shit his friend put him through about Simmons.

Lopez and Sheila had begun their own discussion too, and Tucker was trying to fill in some of the gaps of Caboose’s memory with whatever had actually fucking happened that his teammate wasn’t getting right in his recollection.

Doctor Grey turned to Doc and Donut then, just as the two had been starting to talk about whatever plans it was they had come up with earlier for the “party” since, at the moment, it just seemed like it was going to be one big get-together in a public place.

“Hey, I brought a black-light with me!  Want to see what’s decorating every centimeter of this place?” She asked hopefully, an eager look in her eyes at the prospect.

“Oh, sounds fun!” Clearly Donut’s definition of “fun” was _way_ different from Grif’s was as he exclaimed: “I wanted to try to have a guessing game tonight!”

“It should be pretty informative.” Doc seemed to be in agreement.

“I was sure to bring enough sterilized wipes for everyone!” The doctor added far too cheerily as the three disappeared into the crowd for the start of their “adventure.”

Which left Grif with a clearly very awkward and obviously out of his element Simmons, if the Above Grounder’s very visible fidgeting was any indication.

He smirked and couldn’t help but joke a little, “I can’t believe you actually came.”

Simmons, to his credit, managed to skew his slightly blushing face into a scowl, “O-of course I came, fat-ass!  Everyone else did.”

“Peer pressure is a bad thing to give in to, Simmons.” Grif teased, waving a finger in a chiding fashion as he did so, “Remind me to get you the pamphlet from Donut.”

The redhead relaxed slightly as they fell into their usual rapport, a faint smile crossing over his features as he joked back: “No need.  Doc has the same one most likely.”

They stood there for a few moments in companionable silence, though there was one question Grif just _had_ to ask.

“You didn’t happen to catch that sign outside, did you?”

He grinned.  Simmons’ suddenly brightly red face was all of the confirmation he needed.

*****

Bitters was still all sorts of confused as to why the crazy old man, generally considered more or less the second in command of the Resistance, wanted to talk to _him_ out of all of the lieutenants.

Perhaps it was just for an individual talk Sarge planned to have with all of the newer recruits eventually to get to know them on a one-on-one basis.  Maybe he was only starting with Bitters due to alphabetical order.  Which caused the lieutenant to briefly wonder again what Volleyball’s actual name could be, but he shrugged the thought off.

After all, considering how far-from-ecstatic Sarge had been with his performance earlier during training, the old man might just want to ream him out some more over it.

Or possibly he’d just shoot Bitters with the shotgun he seemed to have an unhealthy attachment to, afterwards figuring out where to dump the body.  The “private conversation” angle _could_ just be a convenient way for there to not to be any witnesses.

Thinking of that theory, it did not bode well in Bitters’ mind when he found the red-armored sergeant in one of the larger outlying tunnels of the base sitting on a chair looking over his shotgun.  The chair also happened to be right next to fucking _Freckles_ of all things!

The older soldier was mumbling something to himself as Bitters approached, not even bothering to look up from his weapon.

When he was within hearing range, it sounded like Sarge was muttering repetitions of phrases such as “ _Dang-na-bit!_ ” and “ _Woulda been better just to have given ‘em a swift kick in the ass after all!_ ”  The words indicated that the older soldier was grumbling more about the current peace talk situation than actually Bitters himself.

Small favors, he supposed.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Bitters asked.  He tried to sound as nonchalant as he usually did, though that was admittedly harder to do when a trigger-happy sergeant with a personal vendetta against the color orange _and_ a giant assault droid who tended to react to most things with a spray of bullets were directly right in front of you.

Thinking of Captain Grif’s earlier advice to tell Sarge to fuck off if ordered to do something insane, the lieutenant wondered if doing something like that would even remotely go over well in this particular case.

Eyeing Freckles and the shotgun, Bitters assumed it was probably best in the long run to try to avoid figuring that out.

Sarge actually jumped a little in his seat at his question, though he quickly covered it up: “Didn’t see you there, Bitters.”

Clearly something had been on his mind then, given how long the lieutenant had been standing there debating things in his head before even speaking up.

“You did request that I see you after dinner, sir.” Bitters pointed out.

“I just figured you woulda slacked off for a little while longer.  Maybe try to catch a few Z’s.” The old man grimaced at the prospect, “It’s what a certain lazy orange dirt bag I know would do.”

Maybe Bitters should have been upset at the apparent thought that he’d be purposely late, but it wasn’t like the young man could blame Sarge for thinking that given his initial earlier actions during training.  Truthfully, sometimes slacking off when you could get away with it _was_ extremely enjoyable.

But, after today, he’d learned slacking off around Sarge wasn’t too much fun in the long run considering his body _still_ fucking hurt from all of the drills and going through that fucking obstacle course!  Plus, he figured it was better to be prepared for whatever was going to be coming up in the future anyways.  They all had, really.

Hell, even Palomo had done a pretty good job today.  Bitters still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that his friend had apparently developed fantastic aim without anyone realizing it.

“Are you just going to insult me or is there a point to this? Sir.” He couldn’t help but be a bit of a smartass in response though: old habits die hard.

“Sit down, Dye Job.”

Sarge wasn’t one to pass up a comeback to what he apparently considered “sass” either.  Bitters could respect that about him in a begrudging sort of way.

He took a seat in the rickety chair that the older man indicated directly across from Sarge and Freckles, trying to quell the thoughts he had of this setup feeling akin to sitting before a firing squad.

He waited for the man in red to say something.

And waited some more.

It definitely seemed as if Sarge _wanted_ to say something given the grimace slowly transforming his features, but he seemed to be having some sort of inner debate on just how to do it.

“Sir…?” Bitters prompted, hoping to get the ball rolling if _only_ for the chance to get this whole weird, disconcerting-as-fuck thing over with.

“A friend of mine once told me to try talking to my subordinates.  Danged hippie if you ask me, but I suppose it wasn’t all bad advice.” Sarge made a face and thought about it a bit more before adding, “In small doses.  As limited as possible.”

He then sighed, shaking his head, “I heard he died a while ago, the poor blue bastard.”

Bitters glanced at the ground, really not quite sure where this whole thing was going.

“You know, Bitters, I really didn’t like you when I first met you.” The older man suddenly said without any preamble, in the same type of conversational tone one might use to discuss the weather.

“I…got that, sir.” He mumbled out awkwardly.

Yeah, he supposed he could even understand why too.  In hindsight, his earlier actions that day probably had translated to being something of a “smartass” given how eccentric and odd a lot of Sarge’s training methods were.  Not exactly the best kind of first impression for a guy who seemed to value _some_ measure of protocol in his interactions with the soldiers under his command if nothing else.

“Downright thought I hated you, in fact.” Sarge continued, nodding slightly at the recollection, “And it wasn’t just because of the orange.  Your whole attitude had me wanting to call you ‘ _Grif_ ’ and cry to the heavens as to why they would test a good man’s patience so.”

The older man carried on, apparently on something of a tangent now, “With you and his sister there, I seriously wanted to have a shot of whiskey.  Maybe scotch even.  Hell, a scotch-whiskey-bourbon  combo shot straight into my veins might have at least made those early hours somewhat tolerable.”

Sarge smiled grimly then, “Scary thing is, dirt-bag’s sister probably would have been the best bet for that.”

Crazily enough, that was more than likely true.

“Er…” Bitters blinked, seriously not sure how to respond to any of this conversation, “I’m…sorry, I guess?”

“You’re damn right you’re sorry!” Sarge shot back quickly, fire in his brown eyes, “You were a sorrier excuse for a soldier than I’ve ever seen in those first training exercises!  Even sorrier than Grif had been, or your friend who nearly drowned himself.”

Bitters shut up then, biting down hard on a reply that was sure to have probably gotten him into a hell of a lot of trouble.  He hadn’t thought he was _that_ bad, all things considered.  He certainly couldn’t say he’d excelled in any of the exercises as well as Kaikaina had during the obstacle course and the scavenger hunt, but he was a better shot than her at least.  Although, ironically, _Palomo_ of all people had ended up doing the best on that particular front.

Sarge sighed, looking off contemplatively into the distance past Bitters’ head, “But you’re not so sorry that you can’t improve.” He added, as if to cushion the pretty brutal blow he had dealt moments earlier.

“Sir?” The younger soldier was surprised by the admission, given Sarge’s previous tone.

“That damn Grif is the same way in a lot of respects.  He has potential all right and sure as Hell _can_ get things done if he’s motivated.  Usually with food.  But, he tends to waste it more often than not and constantly undermines authority instead of just doing what he’s told.” Sarge sighed again, “A real test of patience.  If he actually listened for once, maybe I could figure out other ways to use him in battle than just as a walking target practice, but he can’t even do that right.”

He looked over at Bitters then and grinned: “You know, I actually painted ‘ _Shoot me!_ ’ on the back of his armor once.  ‘Course, he’s so round he couldn’t even tell.” His face darkened for a moment, “Pretty-in-Pink made me take it off though.  Said it wasn’t ‘ _nice_ ’ and that I had the Holo-Grifs for that.”

Sarge bounced back with a smile quickly enough, “But dang it if it wasn’t fun seeing that for a while!  He never did figure out why I was giggling like a schoolgirl whenever I told him to go somewhere first.” He laughed loudly then, “Woulda been near perfect if I had filmed the time he got in front of Freckles here.”

“CONFLICTING ORDERS ARE HARD TO PROCESS.” The robot’s booming voice came from behind them, his massive body angled to stare downwards at the two comparatively tiny people below him.

“Just like Donut and Kimball: danged robot had to rain on my parade.” The older soldier grumbled, the smile on his face turning rather wistful.

As fascinating as the disturbed trip down prank memory lane was, Bitters shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  He was _really_ not sure he wanted to know what this particular train of thought meant for him.  His brain was already heading towards the worst case scenario of Sarge deciding to paint a bull’s eye or something on his back and have the other new recruits or even Freckles chase him for “exercise.”

“His sister’s the same way.  I sure as hell wasn’t expecting her scouting abilities to be as good as they were.”

No one had, truthfully.  Perhaps there was something to be said for how she and Captain Grif had lived on their own for a large portion of their lives.

“Her attitude’s frustrating as all hell to deal with, but I can work through it if she’s willing to train and follow orders from time-to-time.” He frowned, “Same with Grif.  He’s insufferable to be around and even look at, and every day is an epic struggle of patience.  But, when he actually _does_ on rare instances follow orders, he gets results.”

Since praising his subordinate so much seemed to be something the older man wasn’t very comfortable with, he subsequently added, “Still a lazy dirt-bag more often than not though.”

Bitters waited silently then, still not sure what a rant on the Grif siblings really had to do with him.

“You’re sort of the same way, Bitters.” Sarge finally let out, eyes still focused on a distant spot behind the lieutenant’s head, “The potential’s there, but it takes a horribly long time for you to embrace it.”

He glanced over at Bitters then, as if to see if he would argue the point or not before continuing, “Sure, you complained as all get out when I made you do those drills as punishment.  But you _did_ them, which is actually one up from a certain orange blob I know.”

“Thank you, sir?” He wasn’t quite sure if that was supposed to be actual praise or more of an insult given how it had been worded.

“You actually went ahead with doing the obstacle course properly on your own again without complaining, even though you’d bitched to Palomo and Matthews about it before.  Managed to do all right on it too.” Sarge was looking at him keenly then.

Bitters was, truthfully, a bit surprised Sarge was lucid enough to actually remember all of that.  Maybe there was more to the old man than he thought.

“What changed in the thirty minutes before the group went through it again to get you so pumped up, son?”

This was admittedly _not_ the direction he had expected the conversation to go in when it had first started.  The young man frowned, thinking.

The most obvious motivating factor had been the news that the peace talks had stalled, though Sarge more than likely knew that himself.

But it had been more than just that for Bitters.  True, everything was tense at the base as a result of the whole fiasco forced upon them.  But it was more the change in atmosphere surrounding the other recruits, surrounding _himself_ even, to the news that had most motivated him.

_He had known Palomo since he was a young kid.  The two had grown up together in Level Three.  Palomo, being Palomo, had been an easy target for bullies.  Bitters hadn’t really been able to just stand by as Palomo got beat up, even if his oddly cheerful neighbor tended to get on his nerves more often than not._

_The fact that the younger boy had lived in a home situation that wasn’t so great as well had only solidified their odd bond, since it meant that Palomo had ingratiated himself to Bitters’ own family over the years.  It had gotten to the point where he’d pretty much become just as much of a brother to Bitters’ smaller siblings as Bitters was._

_The day of the massacre, his parents had finally decided to take his family up to Level One for a surprise holiday since they had been busy with work for so long.  He didn’t like thinking on it too much._

_He had lost his family then and Bitters found he couldn’t wait until he had reached the age when he was allowed to join the Resistance.  Prepping for it had been a way to focus his anger, grief, and frustration: to temper the sudden desire he had to just not do anything in general anymore._

_Bitters honestly hadn’t expected his dumbass idiot childhood friend to join with him, grinning absentmindedly as he made his bizarre observations._

_At first, he’d actually been pissed with Palomo’s decision.  But, Palomo was surprisingly stubborn, staying on with the Resistance even after what happened to his teammates Rogers and Cunningham._

_He knew Palomo and Cunningham had been especially close friends in particular, had even noticed that sometimes when talking about his teammates even now Palomo would slip-up and call Cunningham “Jason” instead of using his last name as a means to distance himself from what had happened._

_Palomo would then try to act like he hadn’t afterwards with a reassuring grin and an even dumber-than-usual comment.  It was as if he was afraid Bitters would again start up the argument about him leaving the Resistance if he showed too much of his own pain._

_Bitters didn’t honestly know much about Palomo’s roommate’s past at all.  Smith, while quick to praise their superiors and toss in a thoughtful or helpful gesture when he could, clammed up in regards to his own past more often than not._

_He knew Smith was older than the rest of them by several years, and that his views on “leadership” were eccentric.  Bitters also knew that he had a wife, and that his expression turned sadly nostalgic on the rare instances when he would talk about her.  He knew enough from all of those clues and what_ wasn’t _said that Smith’s reason for joining the Resistance had something to do with her._

_Bitters never pried though, as he knew how that felt given when people used to ask about his family.  He still wasn’t ready to talk about them yet, not really._

_Palomo, in an oddly wise decision for him, had long since given up on getting Bitters to talk about what had happened.  Deciding instead that it would be best to wait for whenever his friend would be ready to talk._

_Jensen he knew a little bit more about.  After all, the girl was very much awkward and tended to ramble on if she got nervous.  One time, during a group outing, she mentioned in passing that her father had been a Resistance member.  During another outing, she’d let it slip that they had never really connected despite being their only living relatives.  During a third one, she had stated that her father had been killed in a skirmish a year ago with Above Ground forces in the tunnels._

_She had joined shortly afterwards, in what she felt was a childish attempt to somehow posthumously gain better understanding of a parental figure she’d always been distant from and to hopefully find her own purpose through doing so.  Whether or not she’d fudged her age in order to join the Resistance was something everyone debated amongst themselves given her appearance, but no one dared to ask her._

_As for Volleyball, he knew next to nothing about her past or why she had joined.  The blonde acted like an open book in a lot of respects.  She was always smiling and was very friendly, but the only people amidst their ranks who probably even knew her story were most likely Jensen or possibly Kaikaina—and neither of them were talking on it.  It seemed as if she truly believed in the Resistance cause, whatever her unknown personal motivations were._

_Kaikaina, well, her reason for joining was obvious and she made no secret about it: she had joined to keep an eye on her older brother, the only family she had left.  The two were surprisingly close despite how loud their arguments and teasing moments were._

_Admittedly, Bitters didn’t know as much about Matthews’ past as he’d like.  Then again, it wasn’t like Bitters had gone out of his way to disclose personal information with his roommate either so that was pretty fair.  His friend was reserved and not at all comfortable with talking about his personal life._

_A conversation about how he and Palomo had been neighbors and something of pseudo-siblings to one another on Level Three had garnered him the information that Matthews was from one of the lower levels of the Slums.  Bitters knew that his living space there had probably been small as fuck too as Matthews had once commented in a disbelieving voice over how big their shared room on base was._

_Jensen’s reveal about her father’s death and the subsequent mixture of pain and regret she had over having accidentally blurted it out had gotten a very obvious and sympathetic reaction from the young man as well.  It made Bitters suspect that Matthews had lost family as well somewhere down the line._

_As curious as he was to ask Matthews about his past, just as he was with Smith and the others, he never felt comfortable doing so.  Some conversations he knew could only happen if both sides were ready for them and, in all honesty, he wasn’t ready for his own side of that particular one yet._

They were an odd, mix-matched group that all had their own personal reasons for being there.

Still, they were _together_ and that had become an oddly important aspect of Bitters’ life recently without him having even realized it: Palomo’s weird cheerful glee over orders that made Bitters cringe; Smith’s praise of insane orders and suggestions from Sarge or Captain Caboose; Jensen’s thoughts on motors even though he personally could really care less about that topic so long as a vehicle actually fucking _worked_ ; Volleyball’s competitive nature that made his eyes roll; Kaikaina’s comments you had to often double-take on to make sure you’d actually heard them correctly; Matthews’ tendency to suck up to authority figures who probably didn’t deserve it most of the time.

Yeah, sometimes his teammates annoyed the Hell out of him and he really didn’t want to be bothered with their shenanigans.  But, they were his teammates and his friends now too, oddly enough.  A large part of him didn’t want to lose that.  He’d lost enough already.  Bitters sometimes wondered if the others felt similarly too.

So, as a result of when things had turned even more tense and serious after the peace talk stall news, he supposed he had become a little more determined and motivated.

After all, Bitters didn’t want to lose anyone else, especially not his teammates.  Least of all, he certainly didn’t want something bad to happen due to his own actions.

Still, the lieutenant didn’t have the energy or drive to say all of that to the older soldier with a shotgun sitting across from him.  Bitters wasn’t sure he could explain it too greatly out loud anyways.

So, he shrugged nonchalantly instead: “No idea, sir.  I guess things just changed.”

Sarge raised an eyebrow with a disbelieving look on his weathered face that seemed to clearly say “ _Bullshit!_ ” just as loudly as if he’d actually said the words out right himself.

“You don’t say, huh?”

Even the _tone_ of Sarge’s voice when he asked that question had Bitters wondering if maybe what he’d been thinking before had been pretty fucking apparent on his face without him having realized it.

“I guess so.” He fidgeted slightly, not sure all of the “feelings” the last few seconds had been drudging up inside of him were ones that he necessarily _wanted_ to think too keenly on, “Can I go now, sir, or is there something else?”

_Please let this whole fucking thing be over with!_

Sarge sat there for a few more uncomfortable minutes staring at him before waving a hand in the air dismissively, “Yeah, Dye Job, you can go.”

The sigh Bitters let out was almost palpable as he stood up to leave, not quite sure as to _what_ this whole conversation had been about.

“LIEUTENANT BITTERS, BE SURE TO PROPERLY LEAVE THE PRESENCE OF YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER.” Freckles’ booming voice let out, head swiveling in his direction even more, “OR RISK INSUBORDINATION CHARGES.” To which he added for clarification, “THOSE CAN BE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH.”

Shit, even Freckles was giving him advice now!

He paled at the command, gulping and saluting very quickly, “R—right!  Sir.”

Sarge grinned, chuckling somewhat, “He can be my kind of walking death machine sometimes.”

Well, that figures.

“Oh, and Bitters?” Sarge spoke up just before the younger soldier had taken his first few steps away.

Bitters paused, wondering if maybe the old guy was going to shoot at his feet for good measure just for laughs now that Freckles had unnerved him even more.  He did seem to have an odd sense of humor in that regard.

“Your teammates did a pretty decent job at training today.  You did too, once you finally got your act together.”

“Th—thank you, sir.” He nodded, wondering if he needed to salute again to sate Freckles’ views on proper etiquette for leaving.

“I’m expecting you to keep that up next time.” Sarge told him, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t let your innate orange-ness ruin your team’s dynamic or slow you down again!”

“I’ll…try not to, sir.”

“And pick a dang hair color and stick with it!” He made a face, apparently in the mood to dispense all sorts of advice today, “This isn’t a rave or some kind of freaky love fest.”

Well, it really wouldn’t have been a proper conversation with Sarge if it didn’t end with insults about his hair or the trim of his armor.

“Anything else, sir?” Bitters let out a tired sigh.

“Yeah, don’t tell Grif _any_ of the things I told you today.  Lord knows why he has such an inflated ego as it is despite being him.  I really don’t want to add any fuel to that misguided fire.” His eyes narrowed again, menacingly, “Blab about it and I will tell Freckles here it is open season on anything orange and lazy, you got it?”

Freckles tilted his head slightly at the mention of his name in the conversation.  Bitters swallowed, having the feeling the machine really wouldn’t hesitate if given the order.

“I will keep that in mind, sir.” He assured Sarge.  He wasn’t really sure that insults combined with slight praise was something that needed to be hidden, but he didn’t exactly understand the odd intricacies of the relationship between Sarge and Captain Grif.

“Good.” Sarge nodded once more, “Dismissed.”

Bitters left pretty quickly then after remembering to salute once more in front of Freckles, exiting the tunnel into a corridor that would eventually lead him back to the innermost areas of the base.  He paused then to let out a quiet sigh of relief, glad that the whole awkward encounter was over with.

Had that whole thing been what Sarge considered a pep talk?  It had certainly gotten Bitters thinking of things.  Albeit in a very odd, round-about kind of way.

Then again, that kind of seemed to be Sarge’s style in general.  So, maybe…

There was movement to his right that cut off the lieutenant’s thoughts.

He turned to face a rather squeamish-looking Matthews nervously trying to make himself appear as small as possible and failing miserably.  Seriously, his trim was bright yellow and he was standing in empty space!  Not exactly the best stealth ploy Bitters had ever seen.

His teammate’s face turned a bright shade of red when he realized Bitters was staring at him incredulously, but he somehow managed to quickly blurt out: “H—how’d the talk with Sarge go?”

“Weird, but not as bad as I thought it would be.” Bitters admitted, “Strange as all fuck though.”

When Matthews said nothing following that and was still looking oddly embarrassed, he raised an eyebrow at his friend, “What?  Did you want to have one too?”

Well, that figures.  Matthews _was_ a kiss-ass.

The blush deepened on the young man’s face as he shook his head emphatically in response, “I—I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t have minded it, but—“

He cut off then, and the fact that he was trying even harder at that point to not look at Bitters despite conversing with him became even more apparent.  Matthews was practically turning his entire body to face the other side of the corridor away from him at this point.

Bitters blinked.  He wasn’t really sure why he asked what he did next in a really not-at-all teasing tone, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was hoping the answer would be for it either: “Were you waiting for me?”

Matthews swallowed nervously and promptly started walking quickly away down the corridor instead of answering, Bitters having to move fast to keep up.  His teammate was definitely a fast mover when faced with situations he felt were uncomfortable.

“Well—well, it was odd, wasn’t it?” The auburn-haired lieutenant finally managed to blurt out, _still_ looking anywhere but directly at Bitters walking next to him, “No one knew if you were in trouble or—“

“Thanks.” Bitters cut Matthews off before he rambled too much and got himself into more of an embarrassed tizzy than he was just then.  The last time he had done that while walking, his friend had managed to run right into a wall.

Matthews just nodded, continuing forward.

Bitters thought back to what had happened earlier with the bet, honestly surprised that Matthews hadn’t been physically avoiding him since then given everything, “Does this mean you’re still going to talk to me?”

Matthews stopped walking, looking thoroughly confused by the question.  It finally stumped him enough that he actually looked Bitters in the eye for the first time since he’d shown up in the corridor, “Why wouldn’t I?”

The slightly older boy frowned, “I just thought, because of earlier—“

Realization caused Matthews’ cheeks to turn red again, and he looked at the apparently now incredibly fascinating wall on the opposite side of where Bitters was standing.  The other lieutenant instantly regretted having brought it up, as apparently Matthews’ new coping technique for that kind of stuff was to try to actively pretend like it never happened.

“Sorry.” Bitters mumbled, unsure of what to say.  He just really didn’t want things being weird between the two of them again.

Finally, the color faded from Matthews’ face and neck somewhat.  He shook his head.

“It—it’s okay.” He grinned sheepishly, turning to face his friend once more, “It was just a joke, you know?  Caught me off-guard a little.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Bitters raised an eyebrow, “You know Smith was prepping for if you passed out, right?”

His face reddened again and he muttered a quick “I know.” under his breath.

“Normally, you’d avoid me and the others for weeks after something like that.” Bitters observed.

Matthews glanced at the ground and Bitters wondered if he’d start nervously moving his fingers together like he sometimes did when really stressed.  Bitters always watched when it would happen during Matthews’ pacing moments in their room, and would have to turn away to avoid the inexplicable urge he would get to grab at the digits to steady them.

“I—I know that too.  But,” Matthews glanced nervously over at Bitters as if to gauge his reaction, “You—you guys are my friends now and I—I don’t want to not talk to them.  Or to you.”

There was something odd in the way he said that last part, and it hit something in Bitters’ gut _hard_.

That or he’d eaten something really strange at dinner and it was just now making his stomach start to flip.

It was surprising how relieved Bitters felt at the idea that he didn’t have to deal with a no-more-than-usual-by-now awkward Matthews just because their friends were dumbasses.  He was trying to think of a way to respond that wasn’t too heavy on the touchy-feeling stuff he tended to avoid getting into or that would somehow cause his friend to change his mind when—

“Hey, Bitters!  I guess Sarge didn’t kill you after all, huh?”

Palomo was racing towards them with a grin on his face, totally oblivious to the fact that his teammates had been in the middle of a conversation just then.

Matthews seemed to find the ground fascinating once again.  Bitters sighed, whether out of exasperation for the interruption or because Palomo’s comment had been way too cheery sounding for its context, he couldn’t say.

“Nope, apparently not.” He replied dryly.

His friend’s grin widened, “Well, that’s good!  You know a lot of people had money on just the opposite.” He nodded sagely, “Or on where the gunshot wounds would be.”

The mention of betting had Matthews suddenly looking at Bitters nervously once more and quickly excusing himself from intruding any further on the old friends’ new conversation.

Bitters felt his eye begin to twitch slightly.

“Kaikaina said it was okay as long as we weren’t betting on sex anymore.  I can split the money with you and Matthews if you’d like!” His friend offered helpfully, “The poor guy ran off so quickly after dinner that he didn’t even get to place a bet.”

He supposed, at least, it was nice of Palomo to split the earnings he made at _his_ expense with him and that he even wanted to include Matthews too.

Even still, Bitters groaned: “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

“Aw, you know it will be fun!  It’ll be like a prep for the party!  Maybe we can get everyone else to hang out with us too.” His childhood friend smiled, “Once we find out where Matthews ran off too.  He’s pretty fast, isn’t he?”

He knew Palomo, in his own way, was just trying to get everybody’s minds onto something else.  He always tried doing that, ever since they were little, despite having a pretty bad success rate with it.

Yeah, the other recruits were his teammates and his friends and, yeah, they could also drive him up a wall sometimes.

Bitters was still trying to determine if that was really such a bad thing though.

*****

It had really only taken Washington the walk over to the “party” to completely regret having decided to come at all.

Hardly surprising, really, given Grey’s disturbing commentary on the types of diseases and bodily fluids one could find at such establishments.  Or DuFresne’s inane chatter.  Or Church glaring at Washington’s intrusion every two seconds like clockwork.  Not to mention actually _seeing_ the poorly named establishment with its tacky sign.  Seriously: worst name ever.  Of all time.

It took just about an hour into the event to _really_ cement regretting the decision to come.

Now he was fairly certain he would literally rather be _anywhere_ but here.  At all.

Hell, going on a sparring mission with South after she’d lost another rank would have been a more enjoyable pastime and he had actually had the unfortunate luck of having actually done just that once!  The experience had ended with bruised ribs, a fractured wrist, and the blond-haired woman with orchid-dyed tips telling him bluntly that he needed to _“Suck it up.”_ while he was in the infirmary.

Fortunately, after the pink-armored Resistance fighter named Donut had gotten his fifth or so colorful drink with an umbrella in it, he seemed to have given up on trying to get him and some of the other more reticent party-goers to belt out old pop songs.

The poor kid had a rather unfortunate name, though Washington noticed that any teasing Donut may have gotten because of it growing up didn’t seem to dampen his spirits in the slightest.

Donut’s beverages were not Washington’s drinks of choice, but he had an odd sense of nostalgia at the sight of the bendy-straw that always came with them: he used to try drinking sodas with them through his helmet just to see if it was possible to do so.  North and York had always teased him about it to no end—probably their favorite “Wash” joke beyond the “grappling hook to the balls” story.

So, Washington was left more or less in peace for a while after having secured a small table close to one of the far walls while nursing his own beer.

The seat gave the Freelancer a good view as Donut and DuFresne started singing some ballad he wasn’t completely sure they hadn’t just made up on the spot given how random the lyrics seemed to be.

Observation was always critical, as was establishing potential escape routes or ambush spots.  This line of thinking was probably a sign of just how paranoid he’d become in general given the lack of any real threat he had long since established in this location.  But, he still _always_ felt slightly more at ease being overly cautious in any room he was in nowadays.  It had long since become a force of habit.

Having clear sights of any exits to be had in a darkened space helped quiet some of the rising fears of the dark, enclosed spaces he carried with him now because of Epsilon’s experiences.

Washington could even say noticing exits helped keep him somewhat at ease, along with simply having the chance to do some deep breathing and making sure he was of the right state of mind to be aware of the “present” enough to discern it from the “past.”  His or Epsilon’s too often interconnected now for the Above Grounder to discern the differences anymore.  They were all a part of “him” in different ways.

Oddly enough though, despite how ludicrous the entire situation was, he didn’t necessarily think the duo was all that bad with their singing.

They were certainly better than the few times he remembered York trying to belt out a few notes to impress Carolina: it had never worked really beyond making her roll her eyes and smirking at him.  His friend was horribly tone-deaf and knew it.  York just enjoyed the chance to make someone amused or laugh even if it meant acting ridiculously silly.

Washington tried really hard _not_ to notice that Doctor Grey was trying to appear nonchalant as she reached out to swab empty glasses once people put them down in her vicinity.  He wasn’t even sure _how_ she had gotten invited to this whole thing, and he was fairly certain he didn’t want to know what she was up to with that whole swabbing business either.

Knowing about the black light earlier was bad enough, especially when Doctor Grey just _had_ to show him what was in the _men’s bathroom_ of all places earlier because _“It’s really fascinating!”_ and _“How do you think they got that on the ceiling in the first place?”_

Church was sulking off in the opposite corner of the bar, Caboose excitedly going on about something or other next to him.  The kid looked about as happy as if he was in a candy store unsupervised.

Caboose had been talking to Washington earlier about a new trick Freckles had learned, while Washington tried making sure the Resistance fighter didn’t go back to the bathroom to try making balloon animals with the “party supplies” he found there.  That was definitely something Washington _never_ thought he would ever have to do in his lifetime.

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not that Caboose had so attached himself to Church just then.  On one hand, it gave him some time to himself without worrying about what would happen if Caboose somehow got a hold of something more potent than a soda.

On the other hand, it gave Washington time to himself which wasn’t exactly best for him these days ( _too many thoughts and memories to get stuck on, to dwell on_ ).

Thoughts would begin to play in his mind.  Such as why he was even here, for instance.

A part of him was very much berating the unnecessary act of coming.  Church had made it very clear besides that he had thought it a pointless intrusion of someone who he considered more or less an outsider to his team, and that he hadn’t been thrilled on Washington’s insistence on coming along “to make sure they stayed out of trouble.”

Church did not complain nearly as much in regards to Doctor Grey being there, but Washington suspected that was probably because of Grey’s more-than-just-a-little unnerving remarks at times about the practice of medicine.  Also probably because she didn’t happen to be a Freelancer who would get nervous looks in the halls from time-to-time still due to his “episode” and who Church’s own cousin happened to not be showing as much trust towards recently.

Surely Washington had more important things to do than play the role of a glorified babysitter?

The group really wasn’t his responsibility to begin with.  After all, he was here more on Hargrove’s orders than he was for anything involving Freelancer.

Besides, Carolina hadn’t really ordered him to do anything either.  The conversation she had with him about Simmons had been more of a warning and an information briefing.  It was simply another thing he had been kept in the dark about in regards to the Council’s more recent activities, something that he would have to keep an eye on.

Generally speaking, it seemed as if beyond that Carolina was intentionally trying to keep Washington out of the loop in regards to Church’s team and her own actions.  He couldn’t blame her for that, really, as it was a practical move all things considered.  He was doing much the same with his own agenda.

Yet, his “orders” as they stood from Hargrove were still to remain on standby.  He had even _less_ to do to distance himself from his own thoughts and memories since that damn stall had happened.

Maybe that was one of the underlining reasons the Freelancer had insisted on tagging along to the party: he could drown out his worries in the flood of noise and activity going on.

Besides, while it did have very little ultimately to do with him personally, a part of him _had_ wanted to come to the party just to keep an eye on Florida’s team.

Despite his annoyance at Washington’s intrusion, Church had the type of short fuse that could quite possibly lead to some kind of incident if given the proper incentive.

Truthfully, he was amazed at the amount of control the cobalt-wearing soldier was displaying when it came to Caboose, as Washington only ever heard from across the space “For the love of God, shut the fuck up!” every so often but in a much more restrained way than expected.

Not to mention, given his suspicions as to _who_ Church actually was despite how he came across, the Freelancer didn’t exactly think it smart to have him wandering through what essentially amounted to enemy territory either.

During his observations, Washington noted that Church never drank while here.  Thinking back to the numerous times he’d seen Church at the mess hall, Washington had never seen the Above Grounder actually eat or drink anything—an obvious sign most likely too for the Freelancer’s suspicions.  It was odd how it seemed to be so overlooked by everyone else.

DuFresne seemed far too gullible to have walking through the Slums by himself.  Oddly enough, that was a viewpoint Washington knew both he and Church shared.  The purple medic was liable to wander straight into his own lynch mob and help set things up for everyone participating without even realizing it, which didn’t exactly have Washington feeling too confident about him being on his own.

The Freelancer honestly couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing that the bespectacled man seemed to bond so quickly to Donut.  The Resistance fighter with dirty blond hair seemed just as naïve as DuFresne was when it came to what was actually going on around him.  That was pretty apparent since he came up with this whole get-together thing in the first place.

Seriously, with both Donut and Caboose here, Washington was partially suspecting that a few of the other Resistance members only came just to keep an eye on them.  He would even occasionally see Tucker or Grif looking over at the two younger members of their respective teams as if just to make sure they weren’t going to put their fingers in open electrical sockets or something.

Simmons also seemed like the type of person who could get easily overwhelmed in outings such as this given how they were so far out of his comfort zone.  Given that and the reveal from Carolina about the Council’s supposed “interest” in the cyborg, the Freelancer figured it might be a good idea to keep an eye out on him as well.

Washington had given his word, after all.  Besides, Simmons was something of a friend.  Probably one of the only few Washington actually still had, even though he tried avoiding the redhead now for what he hoped were obviously understandable reasons.  He didn’t exactly want to anything bad to happen to his friend.

But, despite clearly being uncomfortable in the environment, it seemed as if his concern over Simmons wasn’t all that necessary.  The pale soldier seemed rather more at ease than Washington would have expected given where they were and his normal social awkwardness, especially when in the presence of the heavier built Slums resident that Tucker had said was his boyfriend earlier.

Washington had been surprised to hear it given Simmons’ general disposition and thought Tucker had been joking at the time, but given how the two were interacting now….well, even he could tell there was probably _something_ there, even if it didn’t seem like they were acknowledging it.

It was odd to think of Simmons knowing someone from the Slums that well at all, truthfully, but given his own secrets he knew it wasn’t in his right to pry.

Truthfully, the one member of Church’s squad he hadn’t been that concerned about was the robot Sheila, if only because she had a much more mild temperament.  What that said about _most_ of her teammates by comparison given that she wasn’t human was probably better left unsaid for a myriad of different reasons.

Since they had arrived, she’d been glued to the side of the brown-armored Resistance fighter: another robot who apparently could only speak Spanish.

Washington sighed, taking a sip of his beer and debating on whether or not he should even stay since it seemed as if any of his concerns for tonight had been largely unfounded.

A part of him was jumping at the chance to leave since he wasn’t exactly fond of places like this in the first place.  Still, it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to be at the moment either.  At least it was almost semi-entertaining observing things and people here.

Like Tucker, for instance.

Washington watched out of the corner of his eye as the dark-skinned Resistance fighter sauntered over to yet another female bar patron seconds after a failed attempt with a different one.  Apparently, he was optimistic that the twelfth time would be the charm.

The blonde watched rather amusingly as words he couldn’t quite hear were exchanged.  Then said female promptly dumped the contents of the glass in her hand on top of Tucker’s head before storming off in an annoyed huff to join her cheering friends.

Stuff like that never got old, and Washington supposed he could at least give the guy points for persistence.

Evidently, Tucker had been standing close enough after that embarrassing display that when he turned to scope out who else was around, he saw right away that Washington had witnessed it.  His brown eyes narrowed somewhat at the smirk that the older man was just not that quick at concealing at his expense.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” He snapped at him, the eye contact apparently being enough of an invitation for him to plop down tiredly in the seat across from Washington.

His reaction only caused Washington’s sudden amusement to grow.  He had to give it to Tucker: the Resistance fighter could be a pretty good distraction at times from his own far too brooding thoughts.

“I didn’t say anything.”

 “Whatever, dude, it was clearly written all over your face.” He scowled in response.

“I was just curious about what you could have possibly said to all of those women to get them _that_ upset with you.” Washington remarked.

“Do you really want to know?” Tucker grinned, making a horribly suggestive wink at the same time.

Washington groaned, “On second thought, no.  I can honestly say I do _not_ want to know.” He smirked again though, motioning to the liquid now running down Tucker’s neck and soaking his shirt, “At least it was a drink and not a punch this time.”

He huffed, smirking himself, “They just didn’t get my charm!”

The Above Grounder raised an eyebrow at that, “Yes, I am sure that’s it.”

Tucker snorted dismissively, “Easy enough to say for a guy who isn’t even attempting to socialize.”

Washington glanced down uncomfortably at the table, frowning: “Bars…aren’t really my thing.”

He had been to a few in the past of course, always with teammates off-hours.  While the Freelancer had enjoyed himself then to degrees, he hadn’t exactly felt comfortable or at home in that sort of environment.

Oddly enough, the most enjoyment he’d had at a bar was just having a few drinks with Maine after particularly stressful missions.  Back when the older man had decided the rookie member needed to relax before he had some kind of nervous panic attack.  The quiet Freelancer had never really been one for small talk or loud parties either, so he generally did relax during those moments instead of getting pressured to do something insanely stupid.  It was never a wise idea to go out with York or South as they were always dying to get a prank in or have loud yelling matches from across the bar.

It had been the same way with North and Florida as it had with Maine concerning bar outings, though neither of them tended to be that big on alcohol to begin with.  Besides, if North was going to a bar, it was usually to chaperone other people: namely York or his sister, which usually meant the yelling point still stood.

Ever since _it_ happened, Washington had no real incentive to go to a bar: not with all of his friends who would have tried forcing him to do so being either dead or defectors.

Which, admittedly, probably wasn’t something he should be thinking about right now.

“Can’t say that’s a big fucking surprise.” Tucker commented, motioning to a passing waitress for another beer.  She put it down while rolling her eyes at the wink he gave her before she left.

Tucker watched Washington speculatively as the freckled blonde played with the bottle he had pretty much been nursing all night.

“I was kind of shocked you came though, given that.” He finally said, tone more conversational than outright teasing as it had been earlier.

Washington shrugged, motioning to Donut and DuFresne as they very literally _twirled_ past the table, “Doesn’t exactly seem like a good idea to let them be unsupervised.”

“Figured you’d only come to be a killjoy.” Tucker grinned and hurriedly continued though before Washington responded in annoyance to the joke, oddly enough nodding his head, “Though I get it.  Caboose on his own at a bar would be a bad idea.”

“I could imagine.”

Tucker glanced over at where his teammate was still adamantly talking to a clearly exasperated Above Grounder with a goatee, “Thankfully though, he likes you and that Church asshole enough that I have some time to flirt with the ladies.”

“Glad I could help you get rejected five hundred more times.  It’s oddly entertaining.” Washington returned dryly.

“Oh, fuck off.” His tablemate flipped the Freelancer off as he guzzled down the rest of his beer.

“You seriously expected me to believe you wouldn’t have come out at all tonight if it weren’t for Caboose?” Washington asked him.

Given Tucker’s general outlook and attitude towards things, the younger man didn’t strike him as being someone who would probably miss out on an opportunity for something he’d consider fun.

Tucker tapped his index finger on the table thoughtfully, “Well, if I hadn’t found a babysitter probably not.”

Oh, right.  Tucker _had_ mentioned a son last year.  He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know more than that on the subject though.  Prying into a relative acquaintance’s personal life was a bit too intrusive for his tastes.

Besides, probably the less he knew on the backstories of people he could have to potentially fight against the better.  It made it easier if something should occur down the road, after all, though he was finding himself sincerely hoping it wouldn’t despite not being nearly as naïve as some people seemed to be on the prospect.

“I would have been majorly bummed though.  Parties are way too fucking rare nowadays,” Tucker continued, a mischievous light gleaming in his eyes as he motioned to his tan friend still engrossed in conversation with Simmons farther away, “Besides, Kai and I could always use the blackmail on the fat-ass over there.”

“Kai?” Washington hadn’t heard Tucker mention anyone by that name before.  Then again, it wasn’t as if the two of them were friends who interacted much.

“Grif’s sister.” Tucker said in way of a quick explanation, “We were neighbors growing up.”

“I see.”

Then they had joined the Resistance together too, for whatever reasoning they had.  It almost reminded him a bit of himself and Connie.  Odd to think of how his childhood friend had known someone from the Slums in the past, the same as Tucker’s friend, Grif, apparently knowing an Above Grounder like Simmons.

It was strange how things worked out sometimes.  He hoped for Simmons’ sake, at least, that their relationship would have a better outcome than what had happened with C.T. and her friend from the Slums.  For her sake, Washington tried not referring to him as the Insurrection Leader too much in his head given how he hadn’t been that when the two had met apparently.  But, considering the war situation they were in now…

He sighed tiredly, trying to tell himself it wasn’t really his problem anyways.

“And you wouldn’t have, right?” Tucker asked, apparently going back to the topic they’d been on earlier while Washington was mulling things over in his head.  He nodded as if answering his own question, smirking, “I’m guessing probably not with that giant stick up your ass and all.”

 _That_ got Washington’s attention.  He glared at the other man, gray eyes narrowing, “I do _not_ have a giant stick up my ass.”

“If you say so.” Tucker was grinning, apparently enjoying having gotten under the Freelancer’s skin with that particular jab, “Though if you did have one, I bet you it’s nowhere near as bad as the one Church has up his.”

Washington glanced over at the scowling man in question.  He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at the mental image that comment caused, if only because of Church’s attitude towards him earlier, “No, I suppose not.  I guess I should take comfort in that?”

“Yeah, it means you’re slightly less of an asshole than he is.” Tucker nodded sagely, as if this was somehow a huge compliment he was giving Washington.  Perhaps in his head, it was.

“Thanks.” He smiled slightly still due to the absurdity of it all.

Tucker’s own smile widened at the sarcastic response, and subsequently he turned his attention to Washington’s beer, “Though seeing as that’s probably the only drink you’ve had tonight, I’m guessing you’re a lightweight, huh?  Which totally opens you up to more mocking, by the way.”

Washington frowned, looking at the bottle.

Truthfully, he wasn’t too big on drinking in general and hadn’t even realized he’d not been doing much of it while here.  But, given Tucker’s teasing tone just then and the implication he knew was behind it, having heard similar cajoling from York, South, and Connie on occasion…

“Is that supposed to be a challenge?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tucker shrugged, “Maybe.” He said noncommittally, but the playful look was back in his eyes, “I kind of want to give myself a break before trying to hook up with another hot chick and, hey, out-drinking an almighty Freelancer who is refusing to even fucking mingle might be pretty entertaining.”

It was stupid, ridiculous, absolutely pointless, and above all risky.

But, Washington felt himself smirking in response all the same.

There was a lot going through his mind recently, after all.  Maybe, just maybe, this bar trip was a good way to distance himself from it.  At least temporarily.

He maybe didn’t like drinking so much, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his liquor.  All of his teammates in Project Freelancer who had challenged him thinking they could get a few laughs in at the rookie’s expense had learned that the hard way.

He almost, _almost_ felt sorry for Tucker as he motioned to the waitress for another drink too.

The poor guy was going _down_.

*****

C.T. sighed as the miniature teal alien climbed over the table she was sitting at once again, loudly proclaiming a bored-sounding “Blargh!” as he did so.

Only a few hours in and she could feel a massive headache coming on.

Though, in hindsight, that was probably to be expected.

When she had offered to babysit Junior for Tucker at Donut’s suggestion in an attempt at building a rapport with her reluctant teammate, she had stated that she didn’t mind kids.

She had, admittedly, neglected to mention the fact that she had never interacted much with them on a one-on-one basis for anything longer than an hour, or that the closest thing she had ever done to “babysitting” was sometimes looking out for Washington’s cats.

Despite a younger David’s arguments to the contrary, she found that cats were very different things altogether from kids.  Whenever they discussed the topic, C.T. always joked that her childhood friend would probably end up becoming a cat lady if the soldier thing didn’t work out for him.

Besides, Junior, being an alien, was an altogether different type of child than the norm.

The whole babysitting episode had started out rather badly since she had apparently decided on activities that were too young for him.  Apparently, while Caboose still loved to color, Junior thought the whole concept was far too juvenile.

Now after having gotten something to eat, the youngster was apparently treating the (thankfully) mostly deserted mess hall as a sort of homemade jungle gym while she was contemplating what next to do to kill time and keep him safely entertained safely.

She was also debating inwardly on whether or not she _really_ wanted Tucker to trust her enough to volunteer for this sort of thing more in the future.  The former Freelancer couldn’t imagine Junior was that impressed with her babysitting skills at this point either, after all.

“He sure is a handful, huh?”

She nearly jumped at Felix’s voice coming from directly behind her, spinning around in her seat to see the mercenary looking at her reaction in mild amusement.

He was one of the few people that could actually regularly catch her off-guard, which the brunette found more than a bit unnerving given how she had focused so much of her time on her own stealth training.

Felix turned his dark eyes from her to glance at Junior with an odd look of interest on his face.  Junior, while very much like most children in terms of his mannerisms most of the time, did take some getting used to given his appearance.

Even several of the Resistance fighters who were used to his presence now still did a double-take with him sometimes, and C.T. did feel bad for the kid as a result whenever she witnessed it.  She imagined it probably wasn’t easy being the only one of your kind at his age in particular.  Though, to his credit, Junior never seemed to showcase any distress or loneliness at his situation from what she had seen when he was at base.

The little alien hybrid apparently seemed to sense the mercenary’s regard as he stopped hyperactively jumping to tilt his head up questioningly at the man in steel and orange armor.

“Blargh?” Junior said in what seemed to be a questioning tone.

When Felix spoke in an oddly conversational tone though, it was either more to himself or to C.T. than in response to Junior despite his eyes never leaving him, “You know, this is the first time I’ve been this close to one of these guys without having been paid to bring the body in.”

Aliens had been a relatively unknown sight until a ship had crash-landed a few years after Above Ground had been founded, stranding several of them on the planet along with the humans who had long since apparently been forgotten about by their own home world.  No one was quite sure if they had been here previously or not though and had just been able to conceal themselves better before that particular mishap, or what had brought them there initially to begin with.

They were apparently able to enter into the tunnels surrounding the Slums and adapt to living there surprisingly quick for a people who potentially had never been to the planet before, and there was a lot of alien technology discovered even before the ship’s crash both on the surface and in the mines.  Perhaps this place had some kind of cultural or other kind of value to them that they would return at times for visits, though it seemed to never be in enough numbers to be considered a potential invading force.

Aliens had long since then been considered both as potentially dangerous or potentially lucrative by most based off of their combat skills and technology.  A while ago, both the Council and military of Above Ground and the black markets paid large sums of money to anyone who could bring them the bodies of these crash-landed creatures or any of their tech and equipment.

It didn’t surprise C.T. in the slightest to hear that Felix had been hired for such jobs in the past back when the aliens’ numbers had been much more noticeable.  Now, it seemed very likely that unless there was a strong possibility that they were extremely good at hiding themselves, Junior was probably the last one on the planet—and he was technically half-human despite his appearance to the contrary.

Saying it so casually as Felix did, and right in front of Junior too, wasn’t exactly in the best of tastes though.

“Blargh!”  Junior’s words may have been lost in terms of their exact meaning to the two humans, but the anger in the child’s voice was apparent.

Given who his father was and the fact that Junior seemed to idolize him given his own specialized armor coloring, C.T. was fairly certain what was said was probably something along the lines of “Fuck off!”

“He understands what you’re saying.” She informed Felix, glaring reproachfully at him as well.

He looked downright _amused_ again, “Figured he might.  Just wanted to make sure.”

“By being an obvious asshole?” She raised a brown eyebrow incredulously, anger at the little “test” he had done rising with each passing second that she thought on it.

“Tucker would rip you a new one, I think.” C.T. narrowed her eyes at him, “I might beat him to it though.”

The mercenary didn’t seem all that impressed or terrified by her warning, though he did raise his hands up quickly in a pacifying gesture and took a few steps back as if hoping to appease the two angry people before him all the same.

“Hey, easy now.  No one’s been given assignments like that for _years_.” He said in way of explanation, “It was only because the big guys were hostile a lot of the time.”

Felix raised a black eyebrow in her direction then, the amusement back on his face: “You do remember that, don’t you, _Ms. Insurrectionist Spy_?”

She frowned at his mocking title, though she couldn’t really deny it.

 “Besides, I wouldn’t kill a little kid.  Not unless I was paid a shitload of money for it.” He grinned, “Which I don’t think Kimball will be doing anytime soon, do you?”

“It was a poor choice for a joke then.” She muttered, glaring at him still.

“Probably.” He shrugged, tilting his head slightly in Junior’s direction and finally acknowledging him directly, “Sorry, kiddo.”

Junior huffed, turning his back to them.  Felix regarded him for a few more moments, still looking more amused and analytical than personally regretful.

Perhaps, as a mercenary, aliens had always been more a source of income to him than anything else.  Seeing one outside of that spectrum was likely more a curiosity point for Felix.

Still, given how Junior was reacting to him in general, it was probably best for him to be on his way now. 

C.T. waited to see if hopefully the mercenary was thinking along those same lines himself.  Just as she was about to open her mouth to suggest that if he didn’t have anything else he wanted to say or do in the mess hall he should probably just leave, Felix beat her to the punch.

“You really are trying to build up team trust, huh?” He turned to look the former Freelancer directly in the eyes, “Going out of your element like this.”

She had to admit, his observational skills were surprisingly sharp.  It was easy to see that his boasting about ability wasn’t just all talk, even outside of actual combat scenarios.

When she didn’t respond to his remark, he continued, “Think it will work?”

The brunette glanced up at him, not quite sure about the odd way he toned the question.  Was he fishing for a specific response then, be it a verbal or physical reaction?  Why would it concern him in the first place?

“It doesn’t really matter if it does or doesn’t.” She finally responded, keeping her voice and expression as guarded and neutral as possibly to gauge how he would react.

Felix nodded in agreement, not missing a beat, “Certainly won’t matter to someone like me, at any rate.” He said, shrugging nonchalantly as he did so to further illustrate how little it concerned him.

She sighed, “So did you just come down here to gawk and shoot the breeze then, Felix?  Or is there something you actually want?”

“Figured you wouldn’t beat around the bush too much.” He grinned approvingly, “Actually, I did come down here for a specific reason.”

“Which was…?”

The amused, almost jovial disposition he’d been carrying up until this point vanished in a second—a much more serious look crossing over his features, “Have you heard from any of your Freelancer buddies about activity in the tunnels?” He asked, voice oddly quiet, “Anything about them trailing people in the tunnels and giving you messages to pass to Kimball?”

“No.” She blinked, surprised at the question, “Why?”

“Just curious.  My radio seems to be on the fritz and I know how fucking secretive your group can be.  Figured if they were having similar troubles, they might be able to still get by on some encrypted channel.” He looked contemplative, “Like that one you and Agent Tex used to communicate back when you were her Freelancer contact.”

Shit, the dark-haired man seriously did his work then, though it wasn’t as if what they had been doing couldn’t be easily pieced together after she had defected.  Still, it was rather impressive that Felix knew the information without having asked anyone about.

“I’ve heard some odd rumors is all.” His expression darkened and his hand twitched slightly in the direction of the combat knife he enjoyed tossing around at times, “About someone I’m just _dying_ to meet again on an even playing field.”

She didn’t have to make too big of a guess about who he was referring to with that remark.  Everyone knew that Locus and Felix had worked together in the past, and that their partnership had ended on extremely bad terms.

Her own experiences with that Locus bastard had been far from pleasant, so she could understand how difficult working in a unit directly with him probably had been.

“You could ask them directly if you go out on patrols later yourself.  Or Kimball later if you talk to her about getting your radio fixed.” The former Freelancer paused to think for a second, “Last I heard, she had been out patrolling with North.”

“Kimball actually went out with North?” There was an odd tenseness that crossed his features that seemed to be a little bit more than just surprise, though it was so miniscule and fleeting it was more than likely someone else would have missed it entirely as Felix raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t realize they were friends.”

The conversational tone the dialogue had gone into caused C.T. to relax enough that she raised an eyebrow herself before asking in a joking tone, “Jealous?”

He snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes, “Hardly.  I just thought they’d be more cautious.  If something happened to Kimball, I doubt it would end well for anyone here.”

Which was why it was rare for the Resistance leader to ever go out on missions despite being more than capable of taking care of herself.

C.T. knew that the only reason Kimball had even considered going now was that attack threats were so minimal since the Council’s forces, wherever they were, had to play by their own silly rules in this strange course of events.  The patrols were really only doing simple scouting and observation missions.

Still, it seemed like Felix was perhaps actually a little worried so she said reassuringly, “She’s tough, and North isn’t exactly a slouch himself.” Definitely not, given how he had always kicked her ass in the Freelancer rankings, “I doubt they’re going to be jumping and yelling, or making themselves easy targets.”

“I get paid regardless, so it’s no skin off my back what happens.” Whether or not the mercenary said that to be convincing to her or to himself, C.T. couldn’t say.

Felix shrugged, apparently deciding the conversation had ended as he started heading to the nearest exit with a wave over his shoulder, “I’ll be heading out soon myself once I see about getting this fucking radio fixed again.” He said, adding off-handedly in way of goodbye, “Be sure not to lose Tucker’s kid or something, I guess.”

“Blargh!” Junior said to his retreating back, and the accompanying hand gesture he gave along with the remark made C.T. feel like he had probably said something along the lines of “Good riddance!” to the mercenary.

“I’m with you there.” She said to the child, smiling slightly, “Was that conversation as weird to you as it was to me?”

“Blargh.” He nodded in agreement.

“Glad it wasn’t just me then.” She felt a sense of solidarity with the kid now, if nothing else.

Before she could really ponder the odd points of that interaction all too much, there was a commotion from the corridor closest to their table.  A familiar head poked in as eyes registered the sight of the two people sitting in the empty mess hall.

“Agent Connecticut!”

Lieutenant John Smith saluted the woman, which caused her to smile slightly in return.  No matter how many times people told him he didn’t have to salute here, he always did.  It seemed Smith would always be a stickler for protocol, even as he asked her: “Are you watching Captain Tucker’s son then?”

Junior gave an exuberant cry at the sight of the large man as he entered the mess hall, jumping down from the table’s surface he was standing on to run around Smith happily.

Apparently they had met before, which made sense she supposed.  Smith was often in Caboose’s company, and Junior would often be around his father’s teammates while on base.  Though it seemed that the child did not like that Caboose would often try comparing him to Freckles on those occasions.

“Yes, I volunteered to watch him tonight.” C.T. explained.

The lieutenant looked down at the teal alien then, who was now gripping onto his hand excitedly, “Have you been behaving?”

“Blargh!” Junior said in way of confirmation, following it with an enthusiastic head nod.

With how quickly Junior had latched onto him, it seemed as if Smith really had a way with kids.  C.T. wondered if he had perhaps had some experience with children at some earlier point in his past, though she knew better than to pry into other people’s personal lives.

“He’s been great.” She added in as confirmation to what she assumed was Junior’s glowing praise of his behavior tonight, then she frowned slightly, “I’m probably not as great a babysitter though.”

“Oh?” The older man looked at her curiously following her remark.

“I haven’t quite figured out something for him to do that he doesn’t get immediately bored with.”

Smith seemed to contemplate her dilemma for a moment, a look of concentration crossing over his features that he usually only reserved for when he was trying to impart deep meanings to the sayings and orders of his superiors.

It was surprising how often he would have the expression when listening to Caboose, just before the moment of “clarity” he would get upon whatever it was he thought her blue-armored teammate was trying to say.  His interpretation about Caboose’s desire for milk before bedtime had been a truly impressive one, she recalled.

However, before Smith could respond he was interrupted by the arrival of Jensen, perhaps the youngest of the new lieutenants.  She had apparently seen the small group from outside the mess hall as well.  Her freckled face lit up at the sight of some familiar people being there at this time of night.

“Hi, little guy!” The pigtailed-wearing girl exclaimed happily at Junior, before nodding a greeting to the two humans, “Hello, Agent Connecticut.  Smith.”

C.T. smiled at the girl, rather enjoying the company.  The new recruits were some of the only soldiers in the Resistance who always treated her in a friendly manner.

It was understandable that many of the others wouldn’t after all, given her past.  But, it was nice to not have that always be the case.  She was thankful to the handful who didn’t either glare at her as she walked past them or gossip about her past ties to either the Insurrection or Above Ground.

“What happened with Volleyball and Kaikaina?” Smith asked Jensen after nodding in response to her greeting, looking thoughtfully at his younger teammate, “You three are usually always together during off-hours.”

“Kaikaina said she wanted to get something from home, and Volleyball said she’d help.” She smiled at the recollection, “They said there was no reason all three of us had to get in trouble if they got caught.”

Smith exchanged a look with C.T., clearly uncomfortable with knowing that the girls had snuck off-base.

The former Freelancer shrugged, a playful smile forming at the corners of her mouth as she said conspiratorially, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

That seemed to ease Smith’s mind slightly, though he turned to Jensen with a serious look on his face in order to give his teammate some advice, “Best not to mention that to anyone else.”

“Only you guys because I know you can keep a secret!” The girl beamed, “Palomo would definitely blab.”

Jensen turned to glance between the two of them, and then down at the smaller person in their midst hopefully, “Would you mind if I stayed with you guys for awhile, then?  I hardly ever get to hang out with Junior!”

The alien child seemed to like that idea as well, letting out an ecstatic “Bow-chicka-honk-honk!” in response.

The tan girl giggled at the energetic reply, and C.T. couldn’t help but roll her eyes slightly.

The expression was innocent enough coming from Junior as it seemed that he was clearly just excited at having more people who wanted to play with him, but it definitely showcased how much of an influence his father was on his life even this early on.

The brunette could just imagine how much of a handful his “teenage years” were going to be.

“The more the merrier, I guess.” The former Freelancer said, secretly grateful for the company, “He certainly seems to like the idea.”

“Blargh!” The alien child jumped in response.

“Great!” Jensen smiled again, though she looked almost regretful moments later, “It’s too bad there isn’t a playground for him down here, given how much energy he has.”

This remark had an odd effect on Smith, who had a look of dawning realization crossing over his face following it.

He glanced between Jensen and C.T., smiling enigmatically, “No, but there _is_ an obstacle course.  If we get Sarge’s permission, of course.”

*****

The number of times that Simmons had spent at any sort of “party” or bar he could literally count on—well, he honestly didn’t _have_ to count the times on anything since he had never been to any.  Ever.

He wasn’t going to count the birthday parties his mom would always throw for him since that would be even sadder, particularly considering how they had always been comprised of himself, his mother, cake, and…neighborhood/school kids he was fairly certain hadn’t even known he’d existed most of the time and couldn’t even recall his name properly while there.

Then, subsequently while during training and his time as a soldier, events never came up.  Captain Flowers and Doc had talked about possible outings at times, but any talk of that had died out the second their commanding officer had been killed.

So the cybernetic Above Grounder was completely, utterly, mind-numbingly out of his element here.

The horribly named “Randy Offering” was far too loud, especially with his enhanced hearing.  He would have had a massive migraine by now if Dr. Grey hadn’t noticed him grimacing outside the bar’s entrance before they’d even stepped inside and given him some medicine she had on hand—partially out of sympathy, and also partially just to see if it would do anything on a cyborg.  Thankfully, at least, it seemed to be taking the painful edge out of noise.

The place was also too crowded for his comfort levels.  The Slums often were more crowded than Above Ground in general given the population size compared to the space available to them, which was something he’d always found a bit off-putting when visiting there.

Simmons seriously wouldn’t have been surprised if a third of that population was crammed into this bar tonight: everyone was cramped together into their own cliques and intermingling.  The whole situation was causing his social anxiety to really be on edge. 

Given the on-purpose darker lighting, the Above Grounder’s augmented vision modes were turning off and on at an alarming rate.  He could control them manually when he really focused on them, but they had automatic adjustments too which apparently got confused when in environments they hadn’t been programmed specifically for.

Apparently military scientists had never really put much consideration behind what would happen if soldiers went to “dive bars” on nights off, so he had to constantly try to switch the vision modes off or adjust to the sudden moments they would flare to life with annoying frequency.  His vision issues were causing him to feel a little dizzy and out of sorts at times along with his nerves.

Oddly enough, drinking did seem to help take some of the edge off of his anxiety and malfunctions too—blurring his senses so to speak.  But, he also had no idea just how much alcohol it would take to get him horribly drunk since he wasn’t much of a drinker in the first place and he assumed _that_ would be a bad idea on a whole lot of different levels.

And no, they didn’t _all_ have to do with the pamphlets on excess drinking that Donut and Doc had passed around to the group earlier.  Or the disturbing photos Dr. Grey seemed to like showing people about the after effects of alcohol on the human body—though those in particular certainly didn’t help anything.

Simmons had also been more than just a tad concerned about potential health code violations in the “Randy Offering” given how lax the Slums could be compared to most Above Ground establishments, and that was even _before_ Doctor Grey had decided to play her fun game of _“I spy something that could be blood on that stool!  …Or fecal matter!”_

Of course, that certainly didn’t help dampen his fears despite her oddly cheerful manner in describing the “fascinating” stains littering the place.

On top of all of that, Agent Washington and Church had been glaring at each other the entire time while they waited for the Resistance fighters earlier.

Their stare-off started pretty much the very second the Freelancer had surprised them all by saying he was coming along, which had made Simmons’ nerves even worse given how he had still been debating on whether or not the whole “party” idea was even a good idea to begin with.

However, the cyborg had to admit that it probably wasn’t _all_ as bad as he’d initially thought it would be.

Grif being here certainly helped, as they were able to hang out again without some dire threat looming over their heads.

In a way, that in and of itself made the whole horribly awkward and out-of-his-element experience worth it to Richard “Dick” Simmons.

He managed to stomach the drinks that, while helping to somewhat lessen aspects of his outward anxiety and to ease the discomfort his cybernetics were putting him through in this environment, still somehow caused the nervous feeling constantly building in his stomach to intensify into threatening-to-puke-territory.

He also put up with Grif making fun at the grimace that came over his face whenever he _did_ drink.

He discovered that he couldn’t really stand the taste of alcohol, so Simmons forced himself to drink it in one quick swig that burned all the way down and didn’t help his puking sensation at all.  More than likely that was the reason why he felt light-headed, and also why he currently wasn’t as concerned with his vision trouble.

The Above Grounder was sure that probably meant something, but he wasn’t quite sure what currently.

He was trying to just not worry about anything at the moment, really: failing miserably at it a lot of times, but fuck it!  He was making the effort, at least.

To a degree it was oddly liberating, though he knew it wouldn’t last past the weird haze clouding over his mind.  The nagging worries and anxieties were always constantly in the back of his mind, after all.

In the meanwhile, the redhead figured he would try enjoying himself if he could.

Maybe Grif and the others were right in that blowing off steam could be beneficial from time-to-time.  Besides, given how no one knew where the whole “peace talk” situation was going, this might be the only chance any of them would get for doing something really reckless for a long while.

Grif was enjoying himself and Simmons still felt horribly guilty over what had happened a year ago, so he really didn’t want to see his friend getting upset again anytime soon.

Sheila wanted to just enjoy her time with Lopez, and seeing her being as content as was visibly possible for a robot made him smile.

Doc was having a rather good time as well, along with Grif’s younger teammate Donut.  Simmons was glad that his friend’s first foray into the Slums was actually a lot more pleasant than he’d expected it to be.

Doctor Grey seemed to be amusing herself just fine, while apparently Grif’s friend Tucker was getting a kick out of trying to pick up female patrons at the bar despite how horribly most of them reacted to it.

Caboose seemed to be having fun with what appeared to be a rather one-sided conversation with a disinterested-looking Church, though his teammate seemed to be tolerating it more than the cyborg expected him to.  Either that or he’d just resigned himself to his fate for the evening.  He hoped it wouldn’t turn into some blowout later though, given Church’s earlier reluctance towards this whole event.

Admittedly, Simmons did feel rather bad for Washington as the Freelancer looked almost as awkward about being here as he felt.  But, the blonde had done an admirable job humoring everyone despite having only tagged along at first probably for “babysitting duty” as Church had said.  The Freelancer seemed content to simply people watch by himself.  He didn’t sport the scowl on his face that Church had displayed most of the night, so maybe Washington wasn’t as annoyed by the situation as he was just uncomfortable with it.  Perhaps if he really decided this was too much for him, he’d just leave later since no sorts of incidents were happening.

So, while a lot of troubling thoughts were looming in the back of his mind for later, Simmons tried enjoying himself as best he could in the meanwhile.

He even tried humoring Doc and Donut when they attempted to get everyone who came to the outing involved in a sing-along, though he quickly stopped and had to say “Shut up, fat-ass!” with a decidedly red face when Grif was unable to contain his laughter.

Surprisingly, Lopez was the only one aside from Doc and Donut who managed to even get through a full song.  Simmons had no fucking clue what it was about and his electronic voice made the vocal range rather odd, but Sheila had seemed to think it was lovely.

Mostly though, the redhead stayed close to his friend from the Slums while the tan man drank and inhaled a ton of snacks.

Seriously, watching that did _not_ help his already way-too-queasy stomach any, though Doctor Grey of course apparently found it fascinating on account of how it seemed physically impossible that Grif wouldn’t choke given how much food he was ingesting.

Simmons supposed he should just be thankful that she hadn’t drawn a snake comparison during her observation of Grif’s rather gross eating habits.

They talked about a lot of inane things, as though it was a silent rule that tonight they wouldn’t discuss any of the heavier stuff lurking outside of this venture: Simmons commenting on how much of a slob the Resistance fighter was when it came to eating still, and Grif once again poking fun at Simmons’ organizational habits in retaliation.

It was an oddly good time, all-in-all.

Eventually though at one point, and totally not at all surprising given how much he’d had to eat and drink since coming there, Grif went off to go the bathroom.

Simmons, having been told in extensive and far too graphic detail _what_ exactly was to be found in the bathroom by Grey and Doc earlier, had already decided he’d take his chances and wait unless he _really_ had to go.  The cyborg suspected he would have to use up a lot of sanitizer in order to feel remotely clean again if he even stepped into the men’s room here.

Doc came over the second he noticed that Simmons was by himself, brown eyes shining brightly.

“Hey, Simmons,” his friend greeted, the smile on his face as polite and warm as always, “Having fun?”

“More than I thought I would, at any rate.” He admitted, an awkward smile of his own forming.

The brunette nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly with the action.  Simmons noticed that his cheeks were tinged slightly pink, and he knew Doc had been trying a few of the drinks Donut seemed fond of at first out of politeness and then because he had really liked how they tasted despite not normally being fond of alcohol, “That’s great to hear!  Sometimes things have a way of working out, huh?”

“I suppose so.”

Though Simmons suspected he’d probably regret it later on once Doctor Grey’s medicine wore off and things returned back to normal, but he couldn’t argue with Doc’s logic at this point in time, “What about you, Doc?  This was partially you’re idea, after all.  Having a good time?”

“Oh, the best!” The medic had turned his gaze as he was talking to a cheerfully waving young man normally clad in pink.  The blonde had apparently broken away to check up on Caboose and an even now more exasperated-looking Church, who had his face buried in his hands at the moment.

The pink in Doc’s cheeks had become an even darker tinge, but whether or not he was aware that Simmons could perhaps figure out why that was he didn’t say, “Everyone’s getting along nicely.  It just shows how much in common we really do have.”

“You and Donut especially.” Simmons observed, only slightly teasing.

The two really did seem to get along very well though, despite having only met recently.  It was nice to see in a way, given what was happening currently.

“Yes, well…” Doc tore his eyes away from Donut to look at the ground for a second, and the blush that was on his face definitely wasn’t entirely due to how many drinks he had, “He’s very friendly.”

Knowing it would be rude to pry more given the odd bashfulness that was overcoming his friend, Simmons instead chose to say nothing further on the subject.  Simmons was personally used to shyness and embarrassment just fine, but he was never quite sure how to deal with it in others.  He never wanted to make it a point of conversation in case they thought he was teasing them over it since he knew well enough how _that_ felt due to all of the bullying he’d gone through.

Instead, the Above Grounder turned his head slightly to check whether Washington had in fact slipped away or not from where he’d last seen him earlier trying to blend into a wall.

Surprisingly, the Freelancer was no longer on his own at all.  Rather Tucker was now seated at the table with him, several empty bottles on the surface between them.  Evidently Grif’s childhood friend had gotten tired of chasing after women and the bodily harm he received in response.

Simmons was honestly not quite sure what to make of that sight.

“Lopez says they are trying to prove masculinity by killing off brain cells.” Sheila informed them, having snuck up on her two teammates and catching the direction of Simmons’ gaze, “It is an odd notion, don’t you think?”

“Y—yeah.” He stuttered inadvertently, the robot having caught him off-guard.

It was hard to picture Washington engaging in a drinking contest at all.  It had even been a bit of a stretch of the imagination to see him at a bar truthfully, given how closed off the Freelancer tended to be and how many times he’d avoided social gatherings since… _whatever_ had happened to make him become as reserved as he was now.

It was even more of a surprise to see that he also apparently was quite adept at such contests, as the Resistance fighter seemed a bit more wobbly where he was sitting from even this far away while Washington appeared about as composed as always despite the fact that they’d apparently consumed quite a few drinks already.

Freelancers were a freakily strong bunch in all sorts of ways, apparently.

Simmons turned to his robotic teammate after shaking his head, recalling her mention of her compatriot, “Are you two…enjoying yourselves?”

He couldn’t really picture robots having much fun in places like the “Randy Offering” given how so much of the enjoyment from these types of establishments seemed to be tied to alcohol consumption.

“Very much so.  This is quite different.” Sheila sounded genuinely pleased.

Simmons supposed that, for her, just being around Lopez again was probably enough to make her feel content.  He smiled slightly at the notion, feeling rather glad for her.

“It’s great that everybody’s having a fun time!” Doc exclaimed, though Simmons wasn’t sure he’d say that Church was necessarily enjoying himself.  But, he supposed Doc assumed he was simply because their teammate wasn’t yelling at anything currently—one had to take little victories with Leonard Church, after all.

“Doctor Grey is as well.” Sheila informed Doc smoothly, “She wanted me to inform you that she found out something interesting about the mold in the right back corner of the building.  If you were curious.”

“Neat!  I’d been tempted to ask one of the bartenders about that earlier, but I didn’t want to come across as rude.”

His friends wandered off then to go in the direction of the mysterious “mold spot” that was apparently quite fascinating.  Given that he was already far too unnerved by the unsanitary conditions of the establishment to begin with, Simmons opted out of that little adventure.

Truthfully, he also just wanted to try to forget that they’d even mentioned mold in the first place.  Simply hearing about it was causing the area in his chest cavity to tighten somewhat involuntarily where his lungs used to be.

That really didn’t help his viewpoint that the “Randy Offering” was perhaps a death trap on a multitude of potential health and safety points.

“You alone, sweetie?”

Interrupting the mild panic attack he was giving himself thinking about mold were two women.  They were slightly older than himself, and looked almost amused at his reaction since he jerked awkwardly to attention after they caught him by surprise.

Both had drinks in their hands and enough jewelry to blind someone if they got all of it at the right angle in light.

The woman who had called him “sweetie” winked at him, and he felt his face go red.

 _Holy shit, are they_ flirting _with me?_

The redhead was drawing a complete blank on what to do in this situation.  He got tongue-tied around women on his best days.  Women actually talking to him in any capacity beyond idle chatter or orders to begin with was not something he was particularly used to.

Hell, he still had a hard time responding to Agent Carolina at times despite her having been their team’s acting CO for quite a while now.  It had taken several months and a round of “therapy talk sessions” with Doc for him to be able to converse with both Sheila and C.T. as well as he got to doing.

“Got a name?” The second woman asked, the teeth behind her smile flashing white.

It did not help matters any that they were both quite attractive, and obviously dressed for a fun night out on the town.

He froze completely at the question, his face becoming even warmer.  He wasn’t even able to get any kind of sound or vague utterance out through his vocal chords, which made him start to panic even more.

He really _was_ going to puke soon.

“Aw, he’s a shy one!” The first woman giggled, leaning over into his personal space as if to get a closer look at an utterly fascinating specimen.

Simmons literally _squeaked_ at the movement, backing away a few steps as if she was going to hit him.  Yeah, he was totally kicking his brain for having failed him so miserably right now.

The reaction seemed to amuse the woman more than anything.

“No need to be so bashful.” She said in a playfully soothing voice, “We’ll be gentle.”

“Unless you like it rough.” Her friend added in, just as teasingly.

He realized with growing dread a few seconds later that she was regarding with an odd sort of fascination the synthetic skin graft that covered the metal plating on the side of his face as she winked conspiratorially at him, “Which maybe you do, huh?”

So now he was being flirted with, teased, and made to feel like a freak all at the same time.

His self-esteem was going to need to be picked up in a body bag at this rate.  If he didn’t just curl in on himself and die on the spot from embarrassment both at his own actions and what was happening.

“Er…”

“Hey, Simmons,” Grif’s voice spoke up from behind his two tormentors, “Got you another drink.”

The two turned then to stare at the intruder to their fun, looking both curious and rather annoyed all at once.

Dexter Grif smiled back at them innocently, sure enough with two beer bottles in his hands.

“Excuse my friend here, ladies, but he gets flustered real easily.” He informed them, motioning back to a completely frozen Simmons, “You might want to back up in case he pukes.”

They hightailed it pretty quickly after that, casting a rather disgusted look back at Simmons before leaving.

Simmons’ face became a shade of red so deep it almost looked purple, and he really did almost puke from embarrassment.  Both relief and frustration waging a very heavy battle inside him at the situation being over.

He took the beer Grif was proffering towards him and redirected his negative feelings towards his friend, largely because it _was_ partially his fault that he felt as bad as he did now given how he chose to get rid of the women ( _the fat fuck!_ ), “Grif, why the fuck would you tell them that?”

Simmons was now mortified which was causing all sorts of his other anxieties to float to the surface.

All of a sudden the whole outing seemed to have taken on a tone of _“Maybe I was right and this was a fucking bad idea after all.”_ and he really didn’t want to feel that way given how he’d been having a surprisingly decent time earlier.

Grif regarded him silently for a few moments.  It almost seemed as if there was something akin to _annoyance_ flashing in his dark eyes before he responded in an uncaring tone, “You didn’t exactly seem to want to be talking to them anyways, so what’s the big deal?”

“I’m…I’m just not good at talking to women.  You know that.” The Above Grounder mumbled lamely in response, shoulders sagging in defeat.

“You wanted them invading your personal space then?” The other man was raising an eyebrow incredulously.

“Of course not!” The redhead blanched at the memory, “They scared the crap out of me.”

Grif smiled humorously then, and Simmons was glad to note that whatever negative feeling it seemed the Resistance fighter had gotten stuck on seconds before after he’d “rescued” Simmons had vanished with the cyborg’s adamant, and still wholly embarrassing, admission.

Maybe Grif had run into some trouble that had bothered him when he went to the bathroom and just took awhile to get over it.  In which case, Simmons really didn’t want to know about what it was.

“So, look on the bright side then!  They’re not going to be bothering you again after that.”

“Gee, thanks.” He muttered sarcastically in response.

“Anytime, buddy.” Grif took a long swig of his beer, and the two fell back into one of their comfortable silences afterwards.

Which was probably for the best, as it helped calm Simmons’ nerves a bit following that whole awkward mess of an encounter.  He could feel his face start to cool down slightly, which hopefully meant he wouldn’t look like a tomato soon.

“You know, it’s probably for the best that you can’t flirt with women.” Grif said conversationally after a few seconds, causing Simmons to look at him questioningly.

The tan man was staring off into the distance, looking thoughtful, “With your crazy cyborg strength, you could probably really hurt someone if you got physical.”

He knew that Grif was simply teasing him, but given how self-conscious Simmons was about that aspect of himself, he bristled slightly, “Th—that’s not true!”

Grif smirked, looking at his Above Grounder friend with mild amusement, “Please, Simmons.  You nearly choked me to death a year ago and I don’t even think you realized it.”

It was meant to be a joke, Simmons knew.  Especially as Grif then went into a ramble on how he supposed super strength wasn’t all it was cracked up to be in stories and everything when you thought about it.

It was the type of topic that when they had been younger they probably could have had an endless, pointless debate on and really enjoyed.

But, mentioning the whole hostage situation again along with the casual reveal that during it he had actually very nearly seriously hurt Grif without having even realized it, caused the Above Grounder to suddenly feel more upset than he had felt previously this whole night.

The redhead knew full well that he could do damage with his cybernetics, but he lost track of that more often than he cared to admit when he wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

Simmons frowned.  Instead of responding to Grif’s remarks, he downed the entire bottle of beer the Resistance fighter had just given him in one sitting and promptly wanted another.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** I swear…these chapters keep getting larger every time I write a new one. 0_0; This is yet another probably very obvious case of where I cut a chapter roughly in half because I could have just kept on going. Seriously, this part doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon! XD
> 
> So to keep this note briefer than normal on account of how long the chapter is, let’s just say a lot more interesting things will be happening in the next chapter, many of which will probably have Church wanting to bang his head on wall repeatedly. Poor guy. XD I found parts of this chapter a little difficult to write, so I apologize if any of it comes across as awkward or hard to read.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you very much for reading it! :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Fifteen:

Freaky kickass Freelancer skills or no, he was _so_ going to kill Carolina for this.

Seriously. He should not have to be putting up with so much bullshit in one sitting.  Human beings were only meant to tolerate so much!

Leonard Church sighed, having long since tried tuning out most of the wanting-to-hit-a-goddamned-wall-with-his-skull shenanigans going on around him.

His main goal now was to try to get it all to fade into an incoherent, blurry background noise he could readily just ignore as one looming massive headache.

Unfortunately, that’s what he’d been _attempting_ to do.  It seemed as if life had other plans: this entire fucking set-up was proving just way too difficult to completely block out.

By now, it was pretty obvious that there was nothing going on in the “Randy Offering” ( _who the fuck named this place anyway?_ ) in an underhanded someone-is-going-to-use-this-stupid-outing-as-a-cover-to-kill-you kind of way.

Which meant that his having been forced to go to the stupid thing because of both his apparently secretly sadistic cousin and asshole teammates was nothing other than a pointless waste of time.

Speaking of that too, he _really_ still wanted to know what Carolina was thinking by telling him to look after his team.  It wasn’t like he would be able to shoot anyone if they pulled something.

The most he could do was probably get shot first and then hope that the attackers would trip over his body in an attempt to get to everyone else. Yeah, really fucking _awesome_ protection right there.

Whatever was happening involving the Council’s actions, it sure as fuck wasn’t happening in a dive bar. Apparently his group blended in well enough that no one even questioned if they were or weren’t Slums residents to begin with.

Made sense, he supposed, as it wasn’t like they were in armor save for Sheila.

With her and Lopez’s mannerisms, it was pretty obvious they weren’t human and people tended to avoid them out of fear of some robot uprising or whatever—he never really paid much attention to why.

It wasn’t like any of the Above Grounders were flashing big signs that read _“We’re from that place you guys fucking hate. Come shoot us!”_

As far as anyone who wasn’t in the know was concerned, the Above Ground delegation probably wasn’t ever going to leave Level One.

No real worries there about potential unruly mobs or hate crimes unless one of his teammates said or did something infinitely stupider than usual.

He glanced over at Doc on occasion just to make sure, but nope! He was just having fun with that Donut kid.

There was always the chance that the Resistance fighters could blab to the wrong people about who the Above Grounders were, but this group of them seemed relatively on good behavior too.

So, really, Church didn’t have to fucking be here at all anymore. A part of him was oh-so-tempted just to go _“Fuck it, I’m done with all of you assholes.”_ and just up and leave.

Especially since everyone else seemed to have more or less split off to do their own things, and fucking _Washington_ had tagged along besides.  Which still annoyed him, by the way.

Yeah, maybe all he could have done was be a bitchy human shield if something had gone down, but he could handle things on his own.

He sure as fuck didn’t need a Freelancer agent who there were a lot of rumors about and who even Carolina seemed hesitant towards at times making sarcastic and overly judge-y remarks about crap he did.

His cousin tried keeping them out of the general loop with the remnant of Project Freelancer, but Church could tell that her trust for her remaining teammates was pretty nonexistent at this point given whatever had happened that she still refused to tell him about during when… _she_ and the others had left and Carolina had been in the hospital for a while.

Besides, even badass Freelancer guy didn’t seem to think this situation was all that dire anymore either.

Hell, he was pretty sure Washington and Tucker were now trying to out-drink each other into a coma, which was at least _kind of_ amusing to watch.

Potentially embarrassing things happening to other people generally were.

The Above Grounder did find himself wondering how the fuck Tucker seemed to be able to get underneath Washington’s skin though considering how overly guarded and paranoid the Freelancer agent was.

Maybe there was more to the Resistance asshole than met the eye, or he was just so idiotic with what he said and did that he managed to catch even Washington off-guard.

Whatever the case, the end result of their little drinking contest would no doubt probably be one of the few entertaining highlights to be had here.

Case in point, Church was pretty sure he had seen Doc and Donut actually _frolicking_ past his line of vision a few times since Donut had stopped by earlier to check on him and Caboose.

He couldn’t remember what was said then, just that it was a cheerful dialogue between two Resistance friends that really didn’t seem to make much sense at all and that he would interject random groans into every so often when he’d been asked something.

Church found that he liked the pink soldier fine in small doses, but the perkiness and weird sayings could get out of hand very quickly—particularly when combined with Caboose.

He remembered having mentioned to Sheila way before this fucking thing even happened that a large amount of booze would probably be necessary to get him through the night.

The only thing that really kept him from making true on that word was just that he didn’t feel too thirsty at the moment.

Also, there was the fact that Doctor Grey was watching him like a hawk with anticipation gleaming in her dark eyes. It was as if she was waiting to analyze either a potential explosive fit of anger _or_ him getting drunk out of his gourd.

Her seemingly manic attention kind of just made him want to keep seated.

He supposed it made sense that his medic teammate and the friendly guy who arranged this whole thing would hit it off so well, given their mannerisms and how neither of them seemed to have an ounce of common sense when it came to pretty much anything.

Though if they ended up going the same route as Sheila and Lopez’s “hitting it off well” had, Church was pretty sure he was going to have to fucking shoot himself.

Dealing with what would essentially equate to a romance from a musical number happening right before his eyes on top of that was just too _fucking much_ for his brain at the moment.

The two robots were still off chatting in their own little corner about the odd human behaviors they were witnessing in this bar while fucking _holding hands_ the entire time

Robot and cyborg love affairs were more than he wanted to deal with _ever_.

Speaking of the cyborg love affair, Grif and Simmons were still practically glued to each other whenever Church happened to look their way. With an all sorts of very awkward-looking and red-faced Simmons downing alcohol like no tomorrow.

The Above Grounder’s eye twitched at that. He was starting to have a very strong suspicion that his nerd teammate wasn’t even going to make it back to Level One tonight.

Yeah, he could definitely use a break from all of the couple drama going on around him. Seriously, what the fuck was up with everyone on his team?

It was a hell of a lot of unnecessary drama, if you asked him.

A small, inner voice tried arguing that he probably shouldn’t be judging them too harshly given how his relationship with Tex had gone and the lingering feelings there he really never wanted to even dwell on.

He was _not_ fucking disappointed she had more brains than he did and somehow got out of this nightmare for any other reason other than that misery loves company, goddamn it!

Church promptly told that inner voice to shove it just as he had all of the other times it had annoyingly popped up over the years, complete with a very clear mental image of him giving it the finger too.

Scariest things here beyond the prospect of getting unwillingly involved in all sorts of myriad love affairs ( _seriously, fighting the urge to bang his head on a table at just the thought of that happening_ ), or having to turn over Tucker or Simmons so that they didn’t drown in their own vomit after passing out ( _well, that’s what served the assholes right for drinking like goddamned fish in the first place!_ ), were probably Doctor Grey and Caboose.

Screw Washington’s big-bad-Freelancer vibes scaring potential threats off, Church had a feeling the good doctor that had forced herself on them for this get-together could have the same effect all on her own with a cheery smile.

All it would really take would be one of her trademark exclamations of glee when it came to the prospect of slicing someone open to see what makes them tick if they somehow managed to piss her off.

Most of the “Randy Offering” patrons were already giving Doctor Grey a wide berth because of her swabs and black light escapades.

It was not at all shocking that his team seemed to be more or less accepting of her in spite of that. Simmons did seem at least a little off-put by some of her actions at least, though that could also just be due to his weird issues when it came to talking to women in general—he was still trying to be polite in his nerd way.

Kind of the story of Church’s life, really.

He could just imagine both Sheila and Doc in particular inviting the crazy lady out to tea when they were back home, which sort of terrified him.

As for Caboose…well, the large kid was more or less scary in his own way because he apparently actually _liked_ hanging out with Church.  Even when the Above Grounder was in a worse-than-normal-for-him mood.

Even Church knew he probably wouldn’t be able to stand being in his own presence for more than five minutes without wanting to deck himself.

He was well-aware he was an asshole a lot of the time, he just didn’t really give a flying fuck.

So, it was more than just a little unnerving when he met people who could tolerate him for extended periods of time, even if the only reason they perhaps could was because they had a very loose grip on reality.

In fact, beyond just being able to _tolerate_ him, Caboose seemed to genuinely _like_ Church.

He honestly wasn’t sure what it was about him personally that Caboose liked, but knowing that made Church feel almost bad for the Resistance fighter.

Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t left yet despite the ever growing temptation to do so with each passing second.

Caboose was still emphatically talking about something or other.

Despite whatever ounces of common sense and sanity he still had left, the Above Grounder just didn’t have the heart to up and leave in the middle of his table partner’s rambling.

Though he was only going to give it five more minutes if the younger man kept going on about what he’d had for _breakfast_.

“Tucker always says not to talk to him if he hasn’t had his coffee yet, but I don’t really like coffee.” The large blonde was saying, nodding his head sagely, “I like juice.”

“Uh-huh.”

_I don’t really fucking care._

“Orange juice is the best.” Caboose finished his breakfast beverage topic of choice with a sip of the soda he had been given by his teammate earlier.

Perhaps very wisely, Tucker had ensured Caboose would only be getting non-alcoholic drinks at the start of this whole weird mess.

Church wasn’t sure he _ever_ wanted to see what the young man was like actually drunk.

When Church didn’t even really bother responding to this last statement, Caboose apparently decided it was finally time to move on to another subject. Thankfully too since Church was pretty sure he had been talking about food for hours now.

Or at least it sure as hell had felt like from where he was sitting.

Quite frankly, the Above Grounder didn’t have incredibly strong opinions on that topic at all one way or the other, so he could have fucking cared less. Church hardly ever remembered what he ate normally or even when.

“This place is very loud. And dark.” The blonde made a slight face, crinkling his nose somewhat, “Some spots in here smell like that toilet someone else who wasn’t me broke and never cleaned.  Probably Tucker.”

Well, at least the Resistance fighter _finally_ landed on a subject Church could actually tolerate.

“Yeah, it’s called being a dive.” He told him, voice even harsher than normal in his effort to get it to carry due to the loud music in the background, “I’m guessing that’s because when someone stays here for more than ten minutes they often want to then dive off a fucking cliff.”

Caboose looked at him with a blank expression, blue eyes oddly serious, “That would not end well.”

“No, buddy, it really wouldn’t.” Church looked down at the glass in Caboose’s hand, a look of distaste crossing over his features, “I’m shocked you’re touching that, let alone drinking from it.”

“Because it is un-saintly?” He looked, naturally, confused.

“Unsanitary.” Church’s grimace grew, “If you’re going to copy big words from people like Doctor Grey remember to get them right.”

Though after a moment of thinking back on what he’d probably _meant_ to say, the Above Grounder nodded his head slightly in surprised affirmation, “But, yeah, actually, you got the context down pretty well that time.”

Caboose’s childlike face lit up at the praise, “Oh, I am very good at paying attention!” He informed Church, “That is how I found Freckles when he was hiding before!”

Church wondered how a giant assault droid could possibly even begin to “hide” anywhere. Though in hindsight, he supposed it wasn’t that far of a stretch given how the damn thing had snuck up on him, Simmons, and Sheila a year ago.

Perhaps it had some kind of stealth program in its wiring.

“That’s how I met Kimball too!” Caboose recalled with a smile on his face and a nod again to himself, “I’d been walking for days, getting kind of sad and lonely, when I heard voices and then I met her! She’s a nice lady.”

“Walking?”

Despite his inner vow of not ever really giving too much of a fuck about other people’s personal lives since he had enough bullshit to deal with in his own without having someone else’s to think about, Church was almost borderline curious about how the Resistance fighter had worded that last part, “You mean like in the tunnels or something?”

It was weird to think of someone just letting Caboose wander out of the Slums if he had family there.

Maybe he’d gotten lost or something and hadn’t been able to recall his way back. Accidentally stumbling upon the Resistance in the process.

Then again, if he _did_ have relatives living down here, who in their right minds would let Caboose join a goddamned army given his disposition in the first place?

The blonde nodded, seemingly even more eager to talk now that it seemed like Church was actually attempting to engage in conversation as he’d been more than willing to just talk for the both of them already, “It was fun at first when they put me down here. Like a game of hide-and-don’t seek!”

Caboose frowned following that though, blue eyes darkening in a way that seemed at drastic odds with his usual absentminded behavior as he continued, “But then I got hungry and cold…and it wasn’t really fun anymore.”

Shit. The conversation was going in a direction he hadn’t expected it to at _all_.

Church shifted uncomfortably in his seat, really wanting to kick himself for having asked for any kind of elaboration.

Nothing fucking good ever happened when he actually asked people about their personal lives. That was probably a sign from the universe that he should just stick to focusing on himself if ever there was one.

“Hey, Church?” Caboose asked, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the bar and looking lost in thought. It was an odd expression on the Resistance fighter.

He sighed reluctantly, “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t really fun at first either.” The blonde confessed, looking almost guilty for having admitted it, “There was a lot of dragging and yelling.”

“I…figured.” He couldn’t really think of what else to say to that because, despite how vague Caboose’s talk on the topic was, Church was starting to get a far too clear picture in his head of what had actually happened back then.

It was far from pleasant.

“But I don’t mind that it happened now!” The younger man added, perhaps to both reassure himself of that fact still after recalling a darker period in his life and because he had noticed that Church seemed discomforted, “Kimball is a nice lady, and there are lots of other nice people here too.”

“That’s great, Caboose.”

Well, at least his abandonment down here in the tunnels had perhaps arguably turned out for the best for Caboose in the long run.

Church had heard about how sometimes Above Ground citizens were forced into the tunnels below and blocked entry back to the surface if they had committed some kind of crime or if they were deemed unfit in some capacity.

Or, also highly likely, someone else just didn’t want them around for some reason.

This was the first time he’d actually met someone who would be classified as a “Throwaway” though.

The whole thing basically just reiterated what he already knew about the people he worked for being assholes.

“Oh, and I wouldn’t have met any of you guys if I wasn’t here, Church!”

He couldn’t help raising a black eyebrow at this, nodding somewhat in agreement, “Yeah, I guess we wouldn’t have run in the same social circles.”

“Yeah. The guys I used to hang out with were really popular.” Caboose leaned over to stage whisper conspiratorially, “I don’t think you would have been allowed to sit with them.”

He decided to ignore that for once and not remind Caboose that the people he knew in Above Ground were probably some of the very same people who had dumped the blonde down here, on account of how Caboose had just told him something that was uncomfortably close to lucid for him.

It had inadvertently made Church feel _things_ in the process.

So instead, he simply said, “Probably not.”

“There were some fun times up there too.” Caboose continued nostalgically, “Like when they threw things and I had to learn to dodge them.”

Oh, shit. This was almost getting way too sad.

Caboose frowned, “But mostly they were mean.” He turned then to stare at Church in admiration, “Not nice like you, Church!”

Church sighed, “Caboose, I can barely tolerate you and I get called a fucking dick by random people every day.” He glared at nothing in particular at the recollection, “Bunch of assholes.”

“I could see that.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes slightly at that statement, especially since Caboose didn’t seem to even mean it as an insult, “So what the fuck makes you think I’m actually nice?”

The black haired man was more or less simply curious now, and wanting to see if it would even be remotely possible for him to follow the blonde’s thought process.

If he even had one, that is.

“Oh, that’s just you being you!” Caboose scoffed as if the answer should have been completely obvious, “Like Freckles or Agent Washingtub.”

Okay. So there was definitely no thought process then.

He raised an eyebrow and informed the younger man, “One of those guys you mentioned is an asshole who could probably kill you in a matter of seconds if he wanted and the other is a giant killer robot. How is it that they’re nice again?”

“I can tell!” Caboose grinned, “Even the mean lady isn’t so mean. Though she is scary a lot of the time.”

Church sighed, pretty certain he’d never get a straight answer from Caboose. Maybe he just had a sixth sense about people or was just a _really_ crappy judge of character.

Given how he’d been talking to Church of all people for the past several hours, the former was probably the most likely answer.

He was somewhat curious about the person Caboose had mentioned just before though, “Mean lady?” Church asked, brow furrowing, “You mean _Tex_?”

A nod, “She helped me bring Freckles back!”

Church was almost, _almost_ tempted to ask about his crazy ex-girlfriend then, but he kept his mouth shut.  Besides, he wasn’t sure Caboose could actually give him much accurate information on what she was up to.

For one thing, his whole story about Tucker having met up with an alien at some point and giving birth to a vampire dog-baby was way too hard to swallow, though he _did_ believe that Caboose thought pregnancy was some kind of disease someone could catch.

He was almost tempted to buy the younger man a picture book on that subject when he heard that while not at all liking all these fucking goddamned feelings bullshit he was going through.

Church supposed that if Caboose told him something like Tex had fought a dragon barehanded and _won_ —well, it wouldn’t exactly be a large stretch of the imagination beyond the dragon part.

Perhaps there was some truth to fiction at times.

He finally settled on a question in that vein that hopefully wouldn’t give him as horribly a ridiculous an answer that he’d need to try to muddle through on his own, “Does she actually get along with you guys okay? She used to have issues with some of her teammates in Above Ground.”

Yeah, in fact he was fairly certain that the only ones who Tex _hadn’t_ had some kind of major altercation with while she was at Freelancer were either dead now or they had defected too.

Save Washington perhaps, as Church seemed to recall him having been one of the few Freelancers that most in the project tended to get along with.

Washington had had a very different, more easygoing personality at the start of the whole thing. At least up until whatever weird ass top secret shit he didn’t want to even fucking know about apparently fucked the guy over and caused him to become a rather big asshole with socialization problems from Church’s viewpoint.

Which, again, was saying something given the Above Grounder’s own general disposition.

Caboose nodded in response to his question, “She did not like Tucker or Grif at first, but now she doesn’t punch them nearly as much!” He grinned, “They’ve become such good friends!”

“Yeah, that sounds like it.” He muttered sarcastically.

The Above Grounder’s self-proclaimed “best friend” took a sip of his soda again and looked thoughtful, as if remembering something now that the topic of Tex had been breached, “She’s outside.”

“What?” Church’s eyes widened at that, surprised.

“No one else even knows! She told me it was a game you guys used to play.” He frowned, “I didn’t get it, and then I just forgot until now.”

“She’s _here_?”

Jesus Christ, she had been here the _entire fucking time_?

“Yeah, she said you would want to be surprised.” Caboose had gotten over his earlier confusion over the whole “game” episode and was smiling, “I love surprises too! We are so best friends!”

Despite himself, Church was already running to the door—not caring at all about what the fuck happened with any of the drama going on with the other people there.

Or about the looks he was no doubt getting from the people inside the “Randy Offering” for bolting up as he had done.

The door opened to the outside, flashing colors from that tacky ass sign bathing the alleyway in front of him.

Simply standing there as if it was the most fucking natural ass thing in the world was Tex, back in her full armor again save for the black helmet she was carrying in her hands.

It appeared as if she had been peering at the darkened windows. Her eyesight was always pretty damn good, he remembered, so she probably could make out what was going on in the bar even while most people would struggle to do so.

It also seemed like she had been in the process of getting ready to put her helmet on and walk away.

“Tex!”

Figures. That had always seemed to be their dynamic: she was always one foot out of any door by the time he was even about to say or do anything.

A lot of chasing and yelling, he recalled. The moments where they could just stop had always been few and far between.

Church was not going to say that he missed them or considered those rare instances “precious” or some other bullshit. He didn’t do that sentimental crap.

He did recall that they were probably some of the only times that he hadn’t thought sucked as much though. Before the shouting and fighting happened again, naturally.

“Tumultuous” didn’t even begin to fucking describe it.

She raised an eyebrow at his outburst in mild amusement, lips quirking upwards a fraction.

“Took you long enough to find out I was here, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, Caboose doesn’t exactly have the best memory when it comes to recalling his own name probably. Much less what other people are doing.” He rolled his eyes, suddenly wondering why he’d bothered running to get here so quickly, “You could’ve just come in with those morons if you’ve been here the whole time.” To which he added under his breath, “Dumb bitch.”

“I wasn’t here to socialize, Church.” Her dark eyes narrowed slightly and she motioned with one of her hands in a gesture that encompassed her armor, “Why do you think I’m dressed like this?”

It wasn’t too hard to figure out, “You’re on patrol?”

“Good boy.” She nodded, curt and precise.

The Above Grounder really didn’t appreciate the mocking tone when he’d actually answered her fucking question correctly, but he frowned in confusion at what she was apparently actually doing and what she had told Caboose earlier about “games” and “surprises.”

The kid might not have the best memory, but those were two very specific things.

Church knew Caboose hadn’t just come up with those words himself during his odd way of interpreting what happened around him—he’d most likely been told them, “Why come here at all then?”

The redhead sighed and motioned for him to follow her, “Quit blocking the door like an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He shouted back reactively, though he stepped away from the small set of stairs leading up to the bar’s entrance all the same.

Probably for the best, considering a group of people brushed past him only moments later to get inside.

She regarded him with even more obvious amusement, and he groaned in annoyance, “Shut up, I just fucking felt like doing that. Being near that place is enough to make me want to vomit.”

“I saw. You looked like you were having fun.”  While her smirk was still a rather small one, the grin was way too annoyingly apparent in her tone of voice.

“Yeah, it’s been the highlight of this whole goddamned trip so far.” With that sarcastic remark, they had moved to stand in a slight side-alley between the bar and one of the neighboring buildings so as to not block any comings and goings from the club.

He glared at her: “Don’t try to change the fucking subject.”

“It’s no big deal.” She shrugged as she told him, “I was out patrolling this area. I figured I’d make sure nothing happened to you idiots.  Just in case.”

He was surprised at that revelation, as it clearly wasn’t just a reference to the Resistance fighters who were now her comrades, “Us too?”

“You never know, Church.” She said cryptically, and he remembered how cautious she could be when it came to differing scenarios.

Tex could basically bulldoze her way through any challenge, but she prepped for them all the same. It kind of made her even more terrifyingly capable.

Instead of touching on her showing consideration for a group of people who by all accounts should be considered enemies since he wasn’t sure she’d want that topic being broached ( _and he really didn’t want to get beaten over the head anytime soon_ ), Church simply stated, “Nothing’s happening here beyond me getting bored out of my goddamned mind and wanting to shoot everybody.”

“I figured.” Which was probably why she’d been ready to leave when he’d come out just then, he realized. She glanced at him though after his last statement, remarking, “You never were one for socializing, after all.”

“That’s because people fucking suck.” He stated pointedly, rolling his eyes at that statement coming from her considering her general outlook towards people, “Like you should be fucking judging anyone on their socializing skills.”

Yeah. He was fairly certain an individual kicking someone into the ground for making one tiny, sarcastic remark about how said individual threw a tank through the air once wasn’t exactly the sign of a people person.

She shrugged again, looking oddly contemplative, “Wasn’t judging, Church. I was just recalling.”

It had been a _really_ long time since they had last talked, hadn’t it?

The defection certainly hadn’t helped any given the different locations, not to mention the differing sides of a war that it put them in.

Even in the rare instances since then when they had somehow ended up meeting again, it was almost as if Tex didn’t really want to spend too much time with him at all.

This was actually the longest conversation they’d had in practically forever, and it fell into that same easy rhythm for them again with the mocking and playing off of one another.

It almost fucking _hurt_.

Church was tempted to ask if she was purposefully avoiding him for some reason, but had a feeling he wouldn’t get a straight answer even if he did.

Tex was way too stubborn if she didn’t want to talk about something.

Asking a question like that could be interpreted as him implying that she was actually _afraid_ of something, which would inadvertently most likely mean a hospital trip for him.

It seemed a lot of things were always left unsaid between them.

So, instead, he changed subjects completely, “It couldn’t have taken you _that_ long to figure out that nothing but my sanity was in danger tonight.  Why did you stick around so long?”

The former Freelancer frowned then, and he honestly wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture. Instinctively, he backed up a step just in case she decided to start swinging.

Not that it would really do much.

Finally, she simply sighed, “Maybe I was hanging around hoping you would have come running out screaming earlier. All right?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know you were out here?” Church countered, his annoyance growing, “You should have just come inside like a goddamned normal person.”

_Or fucking talked to me earlier, damn it!_

“I didn’t think you’d have the patience to stay in there that long.” She honestly almost sounded impressed that he’d proven her wrong.

He scoffed, feeling slightly triumphant that he’d beaten out her initial assessment of his patience, “Yeah, well, I had to make sure nothing happened in there either.” He stood up slightly straighter, “Some of those assholes are my teammates, you know. Even if they do suck.”

She gave him an assessing look following that comment, “I know.” She said, again with that oddly impressed quality to her voice, “You’ve changed, Church.”

He frowned, “Not really. I’m still pretty much an asshole.”

“You’d be surprised.” She spoke in such a low voice that Church wondered if she had even meant for him to hear that comment.

The dark-haired man honestly had no idea what she was implying with it, which caused his frown to deepen as his confusion grew.

Before he could ask her to elaborate on what she meant though, Tex said thoughtfully, “I probably just stuck around longer because I wanted that image of you stuck in my head.”

He regarded her incredulously, “You mean the one of me cursing my life and wanting to bang my head against a wall to make the nightmare finally end?”

A slight smile was on her face, “Maybe.”

Church responded to that with the first thing that came to mind, oddly enough feeling his mouth start to curve upwards slightly too, “You’re fucking weird, Tex.”

Her smile had turned into her customary smirk, “Same to you, cock bite.”

It was a bizarre conversation to say the least: Church had no idea what Tex was going on about, but there was something oddly genuine in her sentiment there. He couldn’t help but feel slightly glad for that.

They were both often angry, surly people who apparently considered hurling insults at each other part of the courtship process. They rarely talked about how they actually felt.  That was probably one of the reasons as to why their past together was such a confusing yoyo of a mess.

Maybe if Tex was talking like this more, he could finally figure out _why_ things had ended the way they had.

Or why she had left in the first place.

He hadn’t even gotten so much as a note, and then all of the weird shit had happened involving Project Freelancer and Captain Flowers being killed in action. At around that time he was informed by random people that his once again ex-girlfriend had also been one of the defected Freelancer agents.

Even Church felt like maybe he needed _some_ answers as to why she had decided to do what she did, despite his reluctance to really know much else about anything involving the hidden side of things at the Mother of Invention.

There was a side to Allison he had never really known, a wall he’d only ever gotten glimpses past. Somehow, it had always felt like getting over said wall could perhaps help him see some unknown aspect of his own self too.

Yet that idea also scared the shit out of Church ( _he was fucking awesome just as he was, damn it!_ ), so he had never really wanted to explore it.

He’d always more or less just accepted whenever they ended up going their separate ways in the past, being secretly grateful when they would hook up again later.

With Allison, he was always bracing for the inevitable walking away later.

This time had been different though, perhaps because the separation seemed so much more permanent given what was happening. It made Church look at things he would have probably just accepted in the past.

He just wasn’t sure of how much he really wanted to know. Or if asking would make even an interaction like this become impossible.

Tex seemed to be perhaps thinking similarly, because she suddenly flexed her shoulders and changed tact.

“I take it Carolina is in the tunnels?” She asked, an odd note going into her tone at mentioning his cousin.

He shrugged, both grateful and disappointed for the topic change all at once, “You’d know better than me, probably. She hasn’t exactly clued me in on what she’s been doing.”

Tex frowned and said nothing at that.

He wondered what was going on in her head. Neither of the two women got along rather well with one another, though Church had the theory that a lot of Tex’s animosity towards Carolina seemed to be more reactionary to Carolina’s own views than any kind of actual vehemence.

He had a feeling if he asked her about it she wouldn’t give him a straight answer though. Both she and Carolina really did have a lot in fucking common.

Again, he really wasn’t dumb enough to ever say that out loud to them though.

“Have a theory?” She asked, regarding him thoughtfully.

Since he saw no point in denying it, the black-haired soldier said, “She wants to figure out what the Council’s really up to with these sham peace talks.”

Tex nodded, her frown deepening. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the mention of the peace talks again, or what possibly having Carolina snooping around might mean for her and the other Freelancer defectors in particular given the already tense scenario.

He grimaced, “You’re not going to fucking fight her again, are you?”

Her response was immediate, and quite level, “Not unless she fights me first.”

Not exactly the assurance he’d been looking for. Especially since both of them knew that if Carolina caught wind of Tex at any point, regardless of her goals in figuring out what the Council was really up to, the leader of the Freelancers probably wouldn’t hesitate to try to settle the score with Agent Texas.

She always seemed to lose her cool-headedness when it came to Tex.

Church sighed in defeat, “She’s not involved in this bullshit, you know.”

“I know.” Tex regarded him with a look that seemed almost sympathetic, and he wondered if she wasn’t looking that way not only because of him but perhaps because of Carolina as well, “I’ll…keep that in mind if I run into her.”

“Well, if you could just avoid hitting her with a tank that would be great.” He knew it was impossible to really stop either of them from fighting if it came to that, just as it seemed it was impossible for either soldier to fill him in on anything that they were getting involved in.

_Fucking Freelancers, ex-Freelancers, and their goddamned secrets._

“No promises.” She smirked.

He rolled his eyes, “Well that figures.”

The redhead turned to leave then, her helmet sealing into place with a hiss.

She stared at him for a moment more from underneath the visor, “Next time we’re both near a bar, let’s have a drink.”

“Because I’m such a fucking fan of the ambiance?” He shot back sarcastically.

“That’s an added perk, yeah.” And he totally knew she was smirking just then, damn it!

Oddly enough, though, the idea didn’t seem too horrible to him.

“Why not?” He gave a smirk of his own, “Couldn’t be any fucking worse than hanging out with these assholes for hours on end.”

“I’m pretty sure they say the same about you.”

She always did have to get the last word in. Church supposed he should just be glad it wasn’t being followed with a kick to the head this time.

“Probably.” He muttered, just before she disappeared from sight through the confusing alleyways that led to this location ( _because, damn it, he liked getting in the last word too!_ ).

The Above Grounder stood out there for a little longer before finally forcing whatever remained of his inner strength and patience, of which he’d admittedly never had much of, to reluctantly return to the bar.

By the time he’d managed to drag himself through the door of the “Randy Offering,” it looked as if the group of event goers had gotten somewhat smaller.

Perhaps he’d been out with Tex a little longer than he’d thought. He forgot how he’d lose track of time when with her, which was pretty much the exact opposite of most interactions he had with other people, honestly.

More than likely some of them had even gone right past them through the very same entry door he’d just come through, and he hadn’t even noticed due to the conversation they’d been having in the side-alley at the time.

“Church! Hey, Church!” Caboose exclaimed, still in the seat he’d been in when Church had left, waving at him excitedly, “You’re back!”

Surprisingly, the blonde Resistance fighter was sitting with Doctor Grey now, of all people. The dark-skinned woman had apparently decided to take a break from scaring the crap out of patrons with her experiments, and was instead sipping a drink of her own leisurely with some kind of disinfectant wipe in her lap.

He tried to avoid making eye contact with her or showing that he’d seen that, just in case the doctor decided to explain _why_ she needed it.  She smiled happily at him at Caboose’s exclamation.

“Did you and Tex have a good talk?” Caboose inquired as he got closer, “I bet it was about puppies! Everyone loves puppies.”

“Yeah, we talked.” Church nodded his head to the younger man, letting out an oddly sincere, “Thanks, Caboose.”

“It’s always nice when friends talk.” Caboose nodded profoundly, “Especially when they haven’t seen each other in forever.”

For once, that sentiment didn’t sound all that outlandish considering who said it, “I guess so.”

“Like you and me, Church!”

Church chose to ignore that last happy remark entirely, glancing around the bar instead. He could not see a certain lazy fat-ass or a rambling, red-faced nerd at all.

Or a cranky Freelancer who decided to play the role of babysitter when it was completely unnecessary, or a loud asshole who had kept getting drinks poured on his head all night for that matter.

There were also no background noises of old Earth pop songs being sung off-key and not at all fitting for the music of this place either.

“We’re missing a few idiots now, huh?”

Sheila and Lopez, apparently noticing his reentry, joined them at the table just as Church asked the question.

“Simmons went with Grif to apparently visit a spot he had been fond of from a past trip to the Slums.” His friend informed him in her polite voice.

“Of course he fucking did.” Church tried not to eye-twitch at the sight of the two robots holding hands.

“I suggested that Tucker go home before he collapsed from alcohol poisoning.” Doctor Grey said in a sing-song voice, “Agent Washington agreed to help him get back.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially, eyes gleaming before adding, “I give them twenty minutes before he passes out in a gutter or vomits.”

“¿Está tomandoel dinero eneso?” _{“Are you taking money on that?”}_

Well, that fucking figured too.

Church was almost tempted to try some of those relaxation techniques Doc had showed him once in order to keep himself from really losing it.

“Hey, guys!”

Donut’s cheerful voice rang out just then and everyone turned to stare as he and Doc approached from wherever it was that they’d been hiding at beforehand.

There was a rather obvious red mark darkening on the side of Donut’s neck just underneath his chin that Church really wished he didn’t recognize. The very crimson blush suffusing Doc’s face underneath his glasses gave away even more details as to what had happened there.

The medic was grinning sheepishly under the regard, looking very happy regardless. While Donut was smiling as usual with what seemed to be even more of a bounce to his step than before.

The two were holding hands much in the same way that Sheila and Lopez were.

That was the point when Church really started to eye-twitch and had to seriously resist the urge to bang his head against something.

The future prospect of having drinks with Tex was looking better and better.

*****

“Man, you really _do_ suck!”

Washington raised an eyebrow at the rather slurred statement directed at him by a very wobbly-looking Slums dweller.

“How is that exactly?” He asked, more out of the growing sense of mild amusement he was feeling than anything else.

Tucker groaned and glared at him, though the action was more comical than amusing given how the other man seemed to be struggling to stay on his feet as they walked.

“You could have fucking told me you could drink like a goddamned fish!” He started, still clearly sore about losing the whole “drinking contest” thing.

The Resistance fighter continued muttering something under his breath that sounded something along the lines of how it wasn’t fair that someone as uptight as Washington could out-drink people either, although the Freelancer didn’t hear it clearly enough to get what was actually said.

This caused Washington to smirk somewhat though, “I think you’re just mad you lost.”

“Oh, fuck off!” The usually teal-wearing fighter tried flipping Washington off, the motion causing him to stumble somewhat.

Washington resisted the urge to grab Tucker’s shoulder to steady him, unsure of whether or not the action would be perceived well and quite certain the temptation to even do so had more than a little bit to do with the warm giddy feelings soaking up his brain currently.

He wasn’t nearly as drunk as Tucker was following their impromptu contest at the bar, but the blonde knew he was at least slightly buzzed all the same.

Tucker somehow managed, with a bit more control than Washington would usually credit to anyone who was in such an inebriated state, to keep himself standing upright despite the stumble.

All the while still trying to give Washington a death stare that was far more comical than it was intimidating.

“Is there anything you Freelancers _can’t_ fucking do?” He asked in an annoyed huff, still on the subject of the outcome of their match.

There were several things that came to mind, actually.

Trusting perhaps being one of the top things on the list, but Washington wasn’t about to tell an almost stranger that.

Instead, while Tucker’s sore losing _was_ an entertaining distraction in a lot of ways, Washington felt enough pity for the wounded pride of the younger man that he decided to throw him a bone.

Besides, it was also a pretty easy way to deflect from the more serious responses to that particular question.

“If it’s any consolation, you actually did better than most of the Freelancers I have had drinking contests with.”

Tucker snorted in disbelief.

“I’m serious.” Washington smiled slightly, oddly nostalgic, “Just ask York. You managed to beat his best record by five drinks.  You haven’t even thrown up yet either.”

_That_ had been a fun night.

It had been one of the rare occasions when York had actually managed to convince Carolina to go out with them for a night on the town, only to be bested by the rookie Freelancer member in a drinking contest he thought would have been a sure win.

No one really knew how much alcohol Washington could tolerate beyond C.T., and she generally would use that knowledge to earn some pretty decent betting money she’d split with him later.

York had puked all over their leader’s shoes about two seconds after his loss too.

Even with York’s replacing-Washington’s-shampoo-with-hair-dye retaliation prank the next day, it had been worth it.

Sufficed to say, Carolina never was that keen on attending group outings at bars or clubs again. Though she apparently did go out a few times with just York once he swore he wasn’t going to do anything dumb like that again.

His trip down memory lane was cut short with the sudden realization that Tucker was suddenly a lot closer inside his personal space than he had been moments before, a scrutinizing look in his dark eyes as he seemed to be taking in Washington’s face.

The blonde blinked, fighting down the urge to back away and react defensively to the surprising intrusion.

He _must_ be even drunker than he realized if he had been caught that much unawares in his reminiscing by a guy who wasn’t even being all that subtle in his mannerisms at the moment.

“Dude, do you always look like that when you recall stuff?” Tucker finally asked, thankfully apparently noting the discomfort forming on the Freelancer’s face at his proximity and pulling back to the distance he’d been standing at before.

Washington’s eyes narrowed, wondering if Tucker was going to make some ill-conceived joke again, “Like what?”

“Like someone just kicked a basket of puppies and then threw them at you.”

The Freelancer couldn’t help but frown at that particular imagery, “I do not—“

“York, North, and C.T. get similar looks when they’re talking about stuff sometimes.” Tucker cut in, though his voice was more quiet and thoughtful than Washington would have expected, “Tex looks even _madder_ , which I wouldn’t have thought was even fucking possible if I didn’t see it myself.”

Realizing then that Tucker hadn’t been trying to make fun of him previously, Washington sighed, “It didn’t turn out to be what any of us thought it would be, Tucker.”

That was a colossal understatement in every sense of the term.

By the assessing look crossing over his acquaintance’s face, Washington had a sneaking suspicion that the Resistance fighter knew it too.

Tucker seemed oddly observant at times despite his immaturity in a lot of instances and how obviously drunk he was currently.

“So why are you staying with it then?” The younger man asked finally, a surprisingly serious and more than just a little confused look settling on his features.

The question gave Washington pause. He wasn’t even quite sure he had heard it right, “What?”

“If you know the people you’re working for are assholes, why stay?” Tucker rephrased it, “Why not defect like the others did?”

Well, that was certainly a loaded question.

It was also one he had asked himself far too many times than he’d ever care to admit.

Washington had been left behind, yes, back when he had been a broken shell following a tortured being’s suicide attempt inside his mind.

It had taken him several months afterwards to try to even _begin_ to come to terms with the massive scope of the betrayal he had been very much forced to realize and experience from both sides.

Washington and his teammates. They had unknowingly betrayed and used and torn.

In a very real way their actions symbolized the all-too literal and constant tearing apart and betrayal experienced by _him_ too.

The truth was, Washington could have left easily enough once he had been released from the hospital.

Yet he had chosen _not_ to.  He’d chosen to play the part of the good little traumatized soldier and never reveal the true extent of what he knew.

_Everything_.

Epsilon was memory personified, twisted up with his own. Lifetimes fragmented and then crammed back into a far too small container for all of them.

He had even agreed to become a spy for Chairman Hargrove, a man he knew now could arguably rival, and potentially out shadow, the Director in terms of the scopes of his ambition.

And for _what_?

True freedom, Washington always reasoned. The chance to not only escape from Project Freelancer but to expose every ugly, horrible secret it had ever held.

If he managed to do that, maybe then some of the nightmares would stop.

Maybe then he would not always be trying to push everyone away.

It was, admittedly, getting harder and harder to justify that decision given what Hargrove was ordering and allowing to happen in terms of the situation with the Slums. As well as what he ordered to be done in response to some of the unease growing within the general Above Ground populace with recent policy changes.

Truthfully, Washington doubted that the Council member would have cared much if Wyoming had actually managed to kill him a year ago.

He’d simply try to find another pawn to use in a similar capacity.

But now? Now Washington _needed_ to see for himself where all of his own decisions and everything else were going.

Finally, because he could _not_ very well say any of that to Tucker, the Freelancer settled instead on, “It’s…complicated.”

Tucker scoffed, looking at him disbelievingly, but Washington rolled his eyes and changed tact to get him to stop dwelling on it.

“Just drop it and lead the way back to wherever I can see you off from. Okay, Tucker?”

Tucker frowned and muttered something under his breath about “pushy assholes.” He seemed to mutter even more than usual when he was drunk, Washington noticed.

The Resistance fighter glanced around them blearily all the same as if he was trying to recall exactly where they were so that he could figure out where they needed to head next

Tucker had performed admirably, there was no doubt about that.

He’d been able to stay toe-to-toe with Washington despite having already had a quite a few beers in him from before, along with an assortment of other drinks that had literally been dumped on top of his head by the myriad number of women he had failed to woo.

Washington supposed the only reason he didn’t reek in that regard was because of the often fruitier components of those beverages.

He had clearly just not been prepared for Washington’s ability to tolerate large amounts of alcohol. Doctor Grey finally dropped by their table after witnessing Tucker stubbornly _attempting_ to do so well past his limit to announce in a surprisingly no-nonsense voice that the contest was finished _“because Tucker looked well on his way to drinking himself into a coma any second.”_

Her voice even picked up slightly at the mention of a coma, and Washington couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at that oddly placed mirth.

Despite some grumbling protests, more from Tucker than himself really, Doctor Grey somehow managed to get the dark-skinned Resistance fighter to call it a night.

Washington did grumble a bit more himself though at her insistence that he personally see the younger man home on account of the whole thing at least partially being his fault.

_“He’s liable to pass out and hit his head on something!”_ She had reasoned, looking almost amused at the prospect, _“Given what he said about how you guys met do you_ really _want to be blamed for another concussion?”_

It was more that comment from her that had led to them being where they were now than anything else, as Washington didn’t really want Tucker trying to punch him out again if they ever happened to meet a next time.

Doubtful, but you never know with things like that.

The doctor _did_ lose some argumentative clout for asking if Washington could give a good recount later on if Tucker passing out _did_ end up happening for something she was calling her “intoxication file” though.

Besides, the Freelancer had been about to call it a night before the whole drinking contest matter had even occurred.

He was fairly certain now that this event _was_ just a loud gathering of very eccentric people, and that nothing was going to happen as a result of it that could affect anything from a military or diplomatic stance.

Washington could get Tucker as close to wherever the Resistance base entrance was located as possible. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it from a security stance.

Even as drunk as Tucker was, he had already stated that quite emphatically himself. The Above Grounder understood and respected that.

So long as Tucker assured him once they reached the mining tunnels from this level that he could stumble the rest of the way himself, he’d consider his forced upon him responsibility over with. Then he’d get back to Level One just in case things changed with his standby orders or the peace talks.

Of course, things rarely ever went that easy for Washington in actual practice. Which was a point that was proved in this instance as well mere seconds later.

Tucker, still frowning and squinting as if doing so would cause the drab area around them to yield up information or clues it apparently hadn’t been doing before, finally declared: “I have no idea where the fuck we are.”

Naturally. It would have been too damn easy otherwise.

“Are you sure?” Washington asked despite knowing how futile his question was, hoping maybe that the last few moments since he’d said that had helped to orient the Resistance fighter more.

“I’m pretty fucking sure!” Tucker snapped back testily, apparently just as annoyed by the reveal as Washington was.

“But you’re from here, aren’t you?” He questioned.

“Dude, do you have _any_ idea how huge the Slums are?” Tucker was giving the freckled Freelancer an incredulous look to rival Washington’s own, “People who were born here and live to be one hundred haven’t even seen all of it.”

Washington said nothing, knowing the truth behind that statement.

He had seen the schematics countless times for the ever-evolving layouts of the Slums and its multiple levels, as well as the adjacent mining tunnels that wove around it in all directions.

He knew how big they were in scale and that was _nothing_ compared to having finally seen parts of them in person.

He supposed it would make sense that even a native Slums resident as alcohol-addled as Tucker was at the moment could get lost in them.

“I’d never been to this part of Level Four before tonight either.” The other man was saying, looking rather distressed himself as he recalled that bit of information, “We got lost a few times along the way even.”

As did their group, now that Washington was thinking on it. It had certainly been a rather remote and tricky-to-find location for a get-together.

“Perfect.” The Freelancer let out a sigh, trying to come up with some new strategy.

Finally, he asked, “Do you have a place of residence that’s _not_ located at the base?”

Tucker gave him a blank look, “Why can’t you just say ‘house’ like a normal person?”

Washington ignored that, though his eyebrow still twitched slightly in annoyance, “Would that be easier to find if it wasn’t connected to the tunnels?”

“If it was on one of the levels closer to this one, probably.” Tucker was swaying a bit on his feet now, “But _my_ ‘place of residence,’” and here Washington did roll his eyes given how obvious it was that Tucker was mocking his choice of words, “is in Low Town.”

“Which is the lowest level, right?” The blonde recalled having heard that term before from briefings.

“Yeah, it is.” Tucker’s voice was oddly devoid of emotion, his expression taking on a neutral quality.

Washington also knew it was far from the ideal place to live down here.

A part of him was almost curious enough to ask Tucker about it, but there was a strange look in the Slums resident’s eyes following that last comment. Something about it told the Freelancer not to press the topic anymore.

Since he didn’t care for when people tried asking him about things he didn’t want to elaborate on, he decided to respect that for others.

Maybe having an Above Grounder like himself, especially one in the military, knowing that much about his home made Tucker feel understandably uneasy.

Washington stared at Tucker, starting to suspect that Doctor Grey’s suspicions about Tucker likely passing out soon were true given how unsteady he was looking at the moment just standing there, “There’s no way you could probably get all the way down there in your current state.” He deduced from what Tucker had been saying earlier.

“Oh, fuck you, man!” Tucker gave him the finger again and almost _did_ fall this time.

Washington grabbed his arm then in order to help steady the younger man. Beyond a second of pulling when his inebriated mind hadn’t quite figured out what Washington had been trying to do, Tucker relaxed and almost leaned into the Freelancer—looking decidedly drowsy all of a sudden.

The Resistance fighter probably wouldn’t have made it ten steps into the mining tunnels even if he had recalled the way before he passed out, Washington realized.

_This is just great._

With a resigned sigh, Washington tugged on the arm he was gripping, “Come on, Tucker, there’s no point in standing around here.”

Tucker must have been _really_ drunk because beyond unfocusedly glaring at Washington for a few seconds, he allowed himself to be dragged down the corridors by the older man without much complaint or resistance.

“Where are we going?” He finally asked a little while later, when the walking apparently started helping to somewhat wake up his brain.

“I think I can get us back to the hotel.” Washington informed him, decidedly not mentioning how the Above Ground group had also gotten lost finding that horribly named bar and so he wasn’t quite as confident in that statement as he’d generally like to be.

Still, Washington was _not_ going to go back and have Church mock him for getting lost.  If he could even find his way back now to the “Randy Offering” to begin with.

Level Four was a maze of clustered, nondescript buildings in its back alleyways and he wasn’t quite sure where they were exactly in that mess when Tucker’s many drinks had completely caught up to his brain moments before.

At least he knew the transports to the differing areas were usually located to the sides of levels.

Theoretically, he could just try getting to a transport to make it back to the hotel. That was really the only plan he had at the moment.

“On Level One?”

There was something odd about Tucker’s voice when he spoke, a hesitancy Washington wouldn’t have pictured coming from the vicarious Slums dweller before.

“Yes, Tucker,” he said, raising his eyebrow incredulously at the question, “Is there another one I’m not familiar with?”

Thinking it was just Tucker trying to play some strange joke on him as it would be right up his alley to do something like that while drunk given his maturity levels in general, Washington kept moving. He took it as a good sign that a turn down the next corridor looked at least vaguely familiar to him.

But, just as suddenly, it felt as if he was gripping onto what amounted to dead weight as Tucker stopped moving altogether, effectively anchoring himself to the ground.

The older man frowned and turned around in exasperation.

He was suspecting based on past interactions that the only reason Tucker had stopped was just to joke again about “hand-holding” or something equally ridiculous, which currently he wasn’t too keen on doing.

He was not expecting the Resistance fighter’s pleading, almost ashen look that was crossing over his features.

“Tucker?” Washington was surprised by how alarmed that expression on someone else’s face could still make him feel.

“I can’t.” The dark-skinned man was starting to shake his head emphatically, wide-eyed and suddenly a lot more energetic than he had been moments before, “ _I can’t go there!_ ”

No point in showing just how uneasy this turn of events was making the Freelancer: when talking someone off of a ledge, you needed to appear peaceful and calm yourself.

Instead, Washington cocked his head to the side slightly and tried a rather poor attempt at a joke, “It’s not an ideal situation for me either, but it beats passing out on the street.”

Tucker said nothing.

The blonde found both the lack of a snappy comeback and the way the younger man was now trying to yank his arm free extremely disconcerting.

“Tucker, what’s wrong?” Washington asked quickly, not even really registering that his own grip had tightened considerably around Tucker’s arm in order to prevent any escape that he’d reason later was due more to the bizarreness of the situation and not really knowing what to make of it: “No one’s going to try anything there to disrupt the peace talks. It would be pointless.”

“It’s bad enough having to go there for the fucking day. I am _not_ sleeping there!” The Slums resident was emphatic, and his commentary made for some clarification about recent events in Washington’s brain.

Yes, Tucker had been pissed at him before for what had happened a year ago, but he’d also seemed tenser and more stressed out than even that had warranted.

Similar in a way to how he had lashed out at Washington a year ago when he’d seen him with Caboose and North before knowing all the facts due to the hectic nature of the siege then.

Washington had equated that stress to the talks in general, as that seemed to have been causing everyone to go on edge. But, now he was beginning to think it was much more than that.

It did not take him a moment longer to make an educated guess as to what the source of the Resistance fighter’s unease about that particular Slums level could potentially be.

“This has something to do with the Level One Incident, doesn’t it?” The older man asked quietly, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer or not.

The question caused a sudden sharpness to enter into Tucker’s eyes. He practically hissed out, “Don’t fucking call it an ‘incident.’  It was a massacre.”

Washington winced apologetically though he wasn’t sure what to say, having not meant any offense but knowing why it was taken all the same given what had happened. _“Sorry, poor wording.”_ didn’t seem like it would cut it.

He had simply used the word out of habit and memory. That was how the attack had always been referred to in reports in Above Ground: to lessen the impact of what had truly occurred there in the populace’s eyes.

“I lost my mom then.” Tucker was muttering more to himself really than to the Above Grounder, speaking the words hollowly, “A few other people too.”

“Tucker…” Washington stopped then, not sure how to continue. Any words he would say would be horribly ineffective, after all.

Especially considering the people he was working for.

“She picked one hell of a time to go visit friends, huh?” He let out a sharp laugh, but the sound held no mirth.

It was the kind of laugh someone did whenever _not_ laughing would just mean an inarticulate outburst of pain and loss.

Just like that, Washington had an all too clear image in his mind as to why a younger Tucker had ended up joining the Resistance in the first place.

Probably around the same time that Washington’s own life had been in the process of collapsing around him and he had very nearly lost who he _was_ completely, Tucker had experienced his own trauma that had led him to drastically alter the course of his life.

Washington wasn’t sure _how_ to process it, exactly.  It was more information than he had ever cared to know about any of the people who lived down here.

_Makes it all the more difficult, and how._

His grip on Tucker’s arm loosened, but didn’t dissipate completely. His hand moved down subconsciously towards the other man’s wrist as if to grip his hand tightly.

He wasn’t sure why that urge always seemed to happen, exactly.

He had done it a couple of times before too: in the tunnels a year ago, and in response to when Tucker had tried punching him earlier after the first round of peace talks.

The Freelancer usually only ever really thought on it _after_ the fact, and by then he just tried pushing the whole odd impulse from his mind completely.

Similar to when it had happened a year ago though, the action was not lost on Tucker.

He raised an eyebrow, the repeated action apparently enough to snap him out of his earlier temporary panic, “Dude. What is with you and the hand-holding?”

“Shut up.” Washington felt his cheeks become flushed even more than what could be equated to the slight buzz he still had from the alcohol.

He dropped his hand awkwardly to his side while making a mental note to himself that if Tucker did fall anytime in the near future he would _not_ try to prevent it next time.

“You really should buy someone a drink first.” Tucker was back into full teasing mode, it seemed.

“Didn’t I just do that?” He raised an eyebrow in amusement and smirked slightly, oddly relieved in a way that the absurd direction this conversation had gone in helped to dissipate the heavy atmosphere of before, “You didn’t pay for any of those last beers.”

The Resistance fighter shrugged dismissively, “Winner pays.”

That made no sense. At all.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the opposite.”

“Whatever, you still paid for them.” Tucker grinned and gave a suggestive, playful wink, “Not only did you do that, but you’re trying to hold hands _and_ get me into bed.”

Washington groaned, not quite sure he liked the new teasing direction this conversation was going in anymore, “I will leave your ass here.”

“Oh, lighten up, Wash.” The dark-skinned man was outright laughing now, “If we’re going to be hanging out together you’ve got to learn to take jokes better.”

Washington was almost tempted to ask what would possibly make Tucker think that they would be hanging out more, though he figured that was most likely the influence of the alcohol in the face of the odd personal revelations.

Something else Tucker said did catch his attention though.

“’Wash’?”

“Yeah, that’s you.” When Washington continued staring at him blankly, he elaborated further, “Washington is too fucking long to say all the time, so I shortened it.”

“You’re giving me a nickname.” He stated flatly.

“Kind of? I mean, I thought I had heard North call you that once too.” He shrugged and then frowned, looking at Washington’s neutral expression with what almost seemed like worry, “But if it’s some weird Freelancer-only thing, I’ll drop it.”

Washington shook his head, not quite sure what to make of the odd tingling feeling in his stomach. Perhaps he was more inebriated than he thought and was going to get sick soon enough.  Not a pleasant notion at all.

“It’s fine.” The blonde assured him, “There just aren’t too many people who call me that anymore.”

He could have said that in a way he still considered “Wash” to be a throwback from before things had gotten so twisted.

A nickname that he’d always felt was more to solidify his status as “kid brother” of the team and how it bothered him sometimes now when it was used by those teammates and former teammates because of the memories it would inadvertently dredge up.

He _could have_ said it, but he didn’t.

Coming from Tucker, a person who had no way of knowing any of that and who had apparently just decided to start calling him it on the spot? The nickname didn’t really trouble Washington in the slightest.

Oddly enough, quite the opposite. It felt sort of _nice_.

Especially since the Slums resident wasn’t attaching a label like “cute” to it in the same way Doctor Grey had when she’d overheard Carolina using it before.

Strange how that worked.

A small part of him ( _the tipsy part, most likely_ ) wondered if Tucker had thought of calling him that before and just had never done so out loud until now.

Not that it really mattered in the grand scheme of things.

“Well good then.” Tucker seemed almost relieved at the assurance, regarding Washington in amusement a second later, “Unless you want to give me your real name.”

His response was fairly immediate, “I do not.”

“Then Wash it is!” He grinned, but not in a teasing way this time. It was a genuine smile, the expression looking rather nice on Tucker’s face when he wasn’t being over-the-top ridiculous.

They stood in silence for a few awkward-but-not-wholly-unpleasant moments following that, before Washington decided it was time enough to discuss the topic that was still at hand.

“So, what do we do now if Level One is out?”

Perhaps Tucker had sobered enough due to the fluctuations in the conversation to recall where exactly they were and what direction he needed to go.

Or they could go back to the “Randy Offering” to get proper directions, and Washington would just have to face what would no doubt be Church’s smug gloating over the Freelancer who insisted on coming along to keep them out of trouble getting lost.

If Grif, Donut, or Lopez were still there and ready to leave, they could hopefully get Tucker back safely instead. Washington wasn’t counting Caboose in the equation, as he had the feeling Caboose would need help getting back to base too.

Tucker closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remaining still for such a long while that Washington was nearly afraid he may have passed out on his feet. Only the fact that he was remaining staunchly upright indicated otherwise.

When the dark-skinned man opened his brown eyes again, there was a spark of determination in their depths.

“You know what? I can’t stand the fucking place now, but that sucks because it’s still a part of my home.” There was an angry, emphatic tone to his voice as he spoke, “I am not going to let those Council assholes have the satisfaction of me getting even more upset on account of _them_ wanting to play their stupid games.”

He turned to look Washington straight in the eye then, “Lead the way, Wash.”

“You sure?” Washington was both concerned and strangely impressed by Tucker’s resolve.

“Hell, yeah! This will be my personal way of telling them to fuck off with all of their bullshit.”

That sounded even _more_ like the Tucker he was acquainted with.  The Above Grounder couldn’t help but smile slightly in response to that sentiment.

Tucker grinned defiantly, though the expression morphed on his face as his features turned decidedly green-tinged, “Might end up puking in front of that damn conference room too.” He admitted, a slight grimace starting to form on his face.

“That would show them.” Washington’s voice had a wry, but still rather impressed, quality to it.

The Resistance fighter responded to that by giving him the finger once more, before promptly bending over to suddenly and rather violently empty the contents of his stomach out on the street.

Thankfully, he did it on the opposite side of where his acquaintance was standing.

When he was done heaving, the sick expression that had formed on his face pretty much matched Washington’s perfectly. Tucker groaned when he realized that and glared at the blonde.

“Never fucking doing that with you again. _Ever._ ” He muttered.

“Likewise.” Washington managed to overcome his own wave of nausea at the sight and smiled in teasing amusement, “Though it was rather fun at the time.”

Tucker rolled his eyes but handled the cajoling with his usual self-assured aplomb, “Well, I do live to entertain.”

He followed Washington more sedately after that, the previous episodes apparently draining most of his energy and leaving Tucker groggier in general.

Puking as he had certainly hadn’t helped the Slums dweller’s energy levels either.

Tucker didn’t even make any teasing remarks or commentary when Washington, apparently completely forgetting his earlier mental promise _not_ to do so, grabbed his arm to keep him from stumbling face first to the ground as they got into the jostling, more-rickety-moving-than-he-liked transport that carried passengers up to the newer levels of the Slums.

Washington was convinced more than a few times during the ride that Tucker would be having a repeat of his sick episode inside the transport.

A sentiment the handful of other passengers also seemed to share as they cast worried glances at the man whenever he groaned or grimaced.

Someone getting sick in an enclosed space was never ideal, though thankfully it never came to that as apparently most of what Tucker had consumed was now safely decorating a spot on Level Four.

When the two finally got to Level One after that trying ordeal, Washington noticed Tucker tensing visibly. The arm he was still holding onto went rigid.

There weren’t as many people up and about at this time of night, but it was still a pretty decent sized number to maneuver through. There never seemed to be a ton of space in the Slums, Washington noticed, unless people just completely vacated an area for whatever reason.

A lot of people were waiting now for transports to the lower levels in order to leave Level One once their business was done with simply because the Above Ground presence there was making them edgy.

He knew there weren’t a lot of transports to jump onto if the level you wanted to go to wasn’t within five levels of the one you were on, which seemed to be what some of the people were grumbling about as they waited. The knowledge was more of a tactical afterthought than anything he was really concerned with at the moment.

“It’s David.” The Above Grounder suddenly blurted out, the impromptu statement catching even himself off-guard as they made their way through the groups of people cluttered about the transport waiting area.

“Huh?” Tucker looked at him blearily, the statement causing him to momentarily forget his stress.

“My name.” He said in way of a rather to-the-point explanation.

“Oh.” He blinked before what Washington had said seemed to really sink in, then he stated, “Mine’s Lavernius.”

Despite how strange and awkward this whole snippet of conversation was, Washington continued, “I don’t really use it anymore.”

Not since the Director had given him his new name, at least. Not since “David” represented a life he didn’t really have any longer.

“I don’t really use mine either.” Tucker sounded rather amused by the coincidence.

This was probably the only time they would even acknowledge those first names at all in their conversations.

Especially given the likelihood of their not seeing each other again beyond possibly if fighting escalated with Above Ground and the Resistance later.

Still, Washington supposed it was nice knowing Tucker’s first name in a strange sort of way. Of having someone _not_ associated with Above Ground or his past knowing it despite that.

Not to mention, his random “sharing impulse” moment seemed to get Tucker to be rather calm as they approached the hotel.

Diverting attention could be beneficial at times when it came to troubling emotions and thoughts. The Freelancer knew that well enough from his own experiences.

Surprisingly, there was hardly any issue at all as the two made their way up to his room.

He figured there wouldn’t be given the circumstances, but Washington also knew to always be prepared just to avoid any unnecessary surprises later.

The guards on duty were respectful of him and perhaps more than just a little intimidated due to his Freelancer status.

Enough to apparently not question his actions directly, though he did get a few raised eyebrows at his choice of company. He chose to ignore them for the moment.

Tucker apparently was astute enough to stay quiet given the situation.

That or he really was about to pass out at any second given how wobbly he was on his feet as they rode the elevator up and went through the hallway.

The light turned on in Washington’s room automatically as the door closed behind them.

The room itself was a sparsely decorated single bedroom, nice enough looking in a utilitarian sort of way. There was a fairly decent sized couch off to the side, facing a wall terminal and a coffee table.

The Above Grounder indicated the direction of the couch with a slight incline of his head, “You can pass out there if you want.”

Tucker frowned, “I can’t have the bed?”

Washington rolled his eyes at the whiny tone in the man’s voice, complete with what he thought was Tucker’s attempt at puppy dog eyes.

They looked more comical than anything else really given his drunken state.

“I will kick you outside.”

Apparently giving up on getting the bed, Tucker sighed and walked over to the couch. He froze in front of it though, turning to Washington with a look that was one part amusement and one part confusion, “Um, dude?”

Washington glanced over, swearing under his breath at what Tucker was looking at.

“Shit.”

The blonde had brought along some extra artillery and had been inventorying it earlier that day, having totally forgotten about it until just this moment.

Most of it was still resting in open containers on the couch and table, as he’d been in a bit of a hurry to catch up to Simmons and the others before they’d left

He had found out about the whole get-together thing much later on, so the Freelancer hadn’t had time to fully prepare his room before he left. Church refused to wait for yet another tag-along seeing as how he’d just wanted to get the whole thing over and done with.

Tucker was looking down at the assortment of grenades and guns with a raised eyebrow, “So, where am I supposed to sleep again?”

“Oh! Um.  Just move some of that.” Washington said, feeling just as sheepish and embarrassed as he had whenever he made mistakes during his earlier Freelancer missions ( _that was an odd nostalgic punch he hadn’t been expecting_ ), “I’ll get it all put away in a minute.  Just try not to…jostle…things too much.”

He’d actually tripped on a grenade once. Even with his armor on, that had not been a fun experience.

Tucker was muttering something under his breath about _“scary ass Freelancers”_ and _“probably should be more worried about this somehow”_ as Washington slipped into the bathroom.

He needed a few seconds to himself, just to process what he was doing.

It _never_ crossed his mind before to invite someone to his room, even if it was just to sleep on the couch.

Washington wasn’t all that trusting of most people anymore, and he didn’t want to freak any one out if he had one of his nightmares and woke up screaming and thrashing.

Plus, his connections to Hargrove meant he needed a bit more privacy in general in order to avoid someone potentially getting a hold of his messages somehow.

Those were all major reasons as to why he had requested his own room in the first place, why he hadn’t thought nearly as much as he clearly should have about leaving weapons out like that

In hindsight, it was a foolish thing to do even with the space being secure. He’d have to be more careful in the future.

The Freelancer was here for a job, not to be a glorified babysitter or make friends with potential enemies.

He shouldn’t have cared in the first place if something had happened to anyone in Florida’s squad if it didn’t directly involve him.

He shouldn’t have cared if Tucker passed out in the street, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have gotten involved in a damn drinking contest with the guy!

Yet, despite knowing that, he had done all those things.

He was _still_ concerned about Simmons and the others, even a bit about Doctor Grey despite not having known her as long and her eccentric behavior.

He was concerned enough about Tucker to the point where he had even told the Resistance fighter his actual name.

Washington was risking a whole lot more with his actions than he cared to admit to himself.

It was all stupid, foolish, and pointless in the grand scheme of things, but…

The blonde sighed. His mind refused to provide any clear answers or solutions.  It just trailed off disappointingly.

Hopefully, he’d be able to get back on track tomorrow when his mind was clearer. Right now, he felt slightly light-headed ( _a reminder that the whole drinking contest was his fault, really_ ).

Washington had to focus on what was important to him, after all.

He had come this far already.

Letting out another tired sigh, the Above Grounder went back out into the hotel room proper.

He should check on Tucker and make sure he didn’t need to use the restroom before he clonked out completely for the night if he could.

Hopefully, the younger man could avoid puking anywhere other than in the toilet in the hotel room.

Washington wondered if Tucker was a little disappointed that he hadn’t managed to get sick in front of the conference room like he’d talked about earlier, trying to fight the urge to smile slightly at the prospect.

The Freelancer’s own fuzzy-tinged brain was slower to react than he would care to admit, but eventually it did process two very important things about the sight before him.

The first was that Tucker had apparently decided it was too much effort to remove weaponry that could potentially blow him up from the couch.

Instead he had opted to fall asleep on the only bed, much to Washington’s annoyance given his earlier comments.

The Slums dweller looked peaceful in his stupor despite his hesitancy in coming here earlier, no doubt due to his inebriation making him pass out more or less.

Tucker’s chest was more toned and fit than Washington would have expected for some reason, the muscles there rising and falling evenly.

Which led to the second, slower-to-form realization Washington had as his gaze inadvertently traveled down all the way to well-toned calve muscles.

His face grew incredibly hot when he truly recognized what he was seeing.

“For the love of—” Washington started to exclaim as he quickly averted his eyes before changing his tone to be more direct, “Tucker, wake up and put your clothes back on!”

*****

It didn’t really surprise Grif that Simmons wanted to leave the get-together earlier than a lot of the others did.

What had shocked him more was that the socially awkward redhead had chosen to stay for as long as he had given his obvious discomfort. Bars were clearly not the Above Grounder’s thing at all.

He had naturally appeared ill at ease throughout most of the night as a result, even if he had perhaps enjoyed the whole idea of not having to deal with the stress of the weird-ass peace talk situation for at least a little while.

At least in the beginning, Simmons seemed to get over that uncomfortable nervousness just by distracting himself with conversations on silly, more mundane topics with either Grif or someone else.

But, the cyborg had been acting more than a little awkward and odd after Grif had helped to get rid of the two women who had been trying to flirt with him.

That whole situation in particular had made Grif more than just a little mad, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on _why_.  Maybe it was just because of how upset Simmons had been over the whole thing in the first place.  Hell, Grif could tell that even before he’d gotten close.

Given that, it had actually annoyed the Resistance fighter even more when the dumb nerd yelled at him for scaring the unwelcome flirts off.

Simmons’ alcohol intake increased dramatically quite a bit following the whole exchange, with any joking remark from Grif afterwards causing the Above Grounder to just drink more.

So, it hadn’t really been that much of a shock when a pink-faced Simmons had said he was going to probably leave.

At first, Grif had thought to complain about the announcement since he hadn’t quite worked up a buzz yet. He totally would have complained loudly to either Donut or Tucker if one of them had said it.

More than likely, he knew Tucker would do the same since that was kind of the give-and-take-understanding their friendship had.

Donut would probably just try to cajole him into calling it a night too through some vicarious song and dance number until he agreed to go simply to keep a hold of whatever remained of his sanity.

But, this was _Simmons_.  What were the odds that they would meet up again like this at all?  So, Grif found that he couldn’t even voice his usual lazy protests.

Besides, when Simmons had announced that he was probably going to go for the night, he’d shifted nervously on his rather unsteady-looking feet and refused to look Grif in the eye.

There was an almost pleading tone in his friend’s voice that seemed rather pathetically hopeful that maybe Grif would tag along as well though, so the tan-skinned man sighed reluctantly and decided to call it a night too.

Tucker and Freelancer guy had already left, apparently. Which was not at all that surprising considering how drunk Tucker had gotten the last time he had seen him.

Another valuable lesson in how both contests and actively participating in things were far less superior options to just relaxing and taking it easy: drinking challenges took the relaxation out of casual drinking.

That _had_ to be some kind of irony right there even if he still didn’t know exactly what the word meant.

According to Caboose, even before that Church had run out of the bar to meet up with the “mean lady” who had apparently been keeping an eye on them for a while this night.

At least Tex hadn’t gone _into_ the bar.

Grif imagined that after the first time some poor soul attempted to buy her a drink they’d be paying everyone’s bar tabs for life, just to make up for the damage to the crappy furnishings.

Donut assured Grif that he could get Caboose back to base safely enough on his own, which he believed largely because his annoyingly cheerful and quirky pink-clothed teammate was surprisingly dependable when it came to looking out for others.

Donut had more patience for Caboose than even Tucker did at times despite how long they’d both been on the same team together. He also seemed quite sober and lucid still despite his little party shindig being at a bar.

Come to think of it, Grif was fairly certain he’d _never_ seen Donut get drunk before even on the few rare occasions when they would drink together in their off-hours.  It was like the younger man’s own bizarre super-power in a way.

He could have done without the dirty blonde’s knowing smile and kind remark that he hoped things went well tonight though.

It was a bit tamer than his usual commentary for sure, and nicer worded than the jokes Tucker and Kai would make about his and Simmons’ “relationship,” but the implication there was still pretty damn obvious.

Though that was _nothing_ compared to his teammate’s last request for the night to see if Grif could get Simmons to tell him some of Doc’s favorite foods for some kind of “farewell basket” ( _“I already know he loves nuts!”_ ), as if the tan-skinned man did that for him he would owe Grif for life.

This was all asked with a blushing glance over at the medic in question while he was talking to Simmons and Sheila about something, most likely Simmons’ decision to leave earlier. Knowing the nerd, he probably wanted to inform his teammates about it first.

Hell, even Grif was doing it and he wasn’t nearly as anal about that sort of thing as Simmons was.

Grif didn’t bother checking in with Lopez, given how it seemed very likely the robot would be staying as long as he could to converse with Sheila still.

He wondered in an amused way how Sarge would react to hearing that his robot creation was continuing his dalliance with “the enemy” after tonight.

Though he figured that somehow their crazy C.O. would end up blaming it on him, saying his friendship with Simmons was clearly a “destructive influence” on everyone which would be admittedly less amusing.

Besides, Lopez was more than capable of handling himself and for some reason he _never_ seemed to get lost.

It was like he always knew the quickest routes to get to places when he wasn’t traveling with other people.

By the time Simmons had apparently finished informing his two teammates that he was leaving early, his face was even redder than it had been after his last couple of drinks.

It made Grif wonder if perhaps he wasn’t the only one who dealt with teasing teammates on a daily basis.

Beyond perhaps Church, who just seemed to be stuck on a perpetual “asshole mode” for most social interactions from what Grif had seen, he imagined any joking by the politer Doc and Sheila was probably rather mild at best and perhaps even unintentional.

He was almost tempted to ask about what had been said given Simmons’ blush, but held back.

If it was in any way remotely like the teasing he got about his friendship with Simmons from Kai and Tucker, the Slums dweller didn’t really want to make things even _more_ awkward for Simmons in terms of their interactions.

Grif knew that bringing it up at all would most likely make Simmons even more self-conscious and avoidant given how he usually reacted to things.

“Do you…want to go to your prime napping spot for awhile?” Simmons asked rather hesitantly as they walked through the myriad of confusing corridors and back alleys of Level Four, fidgeting awkwardly and not quite able to look at Grif directly.

Grif raised an eyebrow at the odd request, which was one of the last ones he’d ever expect to hear from Simmons at this time of night.

“I thought you were afraid of heights.” He pointed out.

“I—I like the view now.” Simmons’ face was red again, both from a combination of his usual embarrassment at being reminded of his personal flaws and from the drinks he had before, “B—besides, I didn’t get to see what it looked like during the night phase.”

It _had_ been a pretty awesome sight, Grif recalled personally, though he had only ever been up in the rafters above Level One a few times himself in the later hours.

The cavern lights dimmed to simulate nighttime on a planet’s surface, and lights twinkled far below as if you were gazing down at the pictures he had seen of a starry sky in reverse when he was a kid.

It looked completely altered from how it did during the day: the darkened shapes of buildings and the faint illumination of street and window lights transforming Level One into a seemingly different place entirely.

The Resistance fighter had always wondered how it would compare to seeing the actual night sky _above_ you, no matter how high up you were.

But, thinking of that view now caused an all-too familiar tightening in his throat, and not just for the practical safety reasons going up there on the ladders at this time of night would probably violate.

“I—I don’t think that’s a good idea, Simmons.” He grinned, hoping that the expression didn’t look as forced as it felt, “You nearly died going up the ladder during the _day_ last time, remember?”

“I have night vision now though,” he motioned to his artificial red eye, and an almost self-deprecating smile formed thinly on his lips, “And I don’t sweat nearly as much anymore even when I am nervous, so gripping the rungs shouldn’t be a problem.”

Well, Grif supposed those were perhaps two of the perks to be had with getting cybernetic enhancements beyond just being stronger.

Truthfully, given how prone he was to sweating _all_ the time he was rather envious of that last one in particular.

The tan-skinned man was actually rather curious about what other things Simmons was able to do (or couldn’t) now as a result of his decision to become a cyborg, but it wasn’t really the time to ask.

Who knew when he would actually be able to broach that subject given how uncomfortable it being brought up by others seemed to be for Simmons.

It was better to focus on the topic at hand, anyways.

“But, I don’t have night vision and I sweat more than enough for the both of us.” Grif reasoned, really hoping he could get Simmons to drop the subject soon as his heart was starting to speed up, “Besides, we’re both drunk. One of us a lot more than the other.”

He gave a pointed look to Simmons following that last sentence. Hell, the redhead was probably only bringing up the rafters now because alcohol was clouding his judgment!

Simmons frowned, looking as though he was preparing to argue more.

Grif had forgotten how annoyingly stubborn Simmons was when he chose to be!

The Slums resident beat him to it though: “Trying to climb onto an extremely high walkway while fucking drunk is not the smartest thing in the world to attempt, Simmons.”

It was a really messed up situation _when_ Grif was the one using logic and reasoning in an argument.

He had his own concepts of logic, sure. But, generally speaking, they usually weren’t what many would equate to universal concepts of logic a lot of the time.  It was odd to be on the other side of the spectrum.

His friend’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, but apparently the appeal to common sense and safety protocols swayed him.

A huge wave of relief flooded over Grif.

He exhaled the breath he hadn’t really been aware he had been holding while he had waited for Simmons’ response, though he was mildly curious as to _why_ Simmons’ views on heights had changed so much from when they had been younger.

It had taken a whole lot of cajoling on Grif’s part to even get the other male to climb up to the roof of the cavern before, after all.

Perhaps it had simply been a nostalgic urging brought on by being in the Slums and the alcohol in the cyborg’s system, since that was the last place they’d gone together before he left during Simmons’ teenage Slums excursion.

Simmons still had a look on his face as if someone had just told him he couldn’t make an organized list of things he needed to do for the entire week, which Grif was fairly certain happened to the redhead a lot and probably bummed him out all the time regardless.

The Resistance fighter felt like he needed to say _something_ , so he added in a confiding tone, “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t been up there in years either.”

Grif didn’t say _why_ that was: that the thought of going up there made him want to vomit and potentially pass out.  That he could still imagine being up there with the smoke rising while hearing people down below _screaming_ , knowing he was trapped without being able to go or do anything.

That going up there would only remind him how there was nothing but what was below. That there was no way for him to escape from that reality: it had just been a childish, foolish notion he’d had as a kid that he had held on to for way too long.

In a way, that all just scared the shit out of him.

“You loved it up there, though.” Simmons’ voice was quiet, almost sad even.

Grif wondered if his reasoning was written on his face regardless of having never spoken of it.

He shrugged in response, trying to appear nonchalant, “They didn’t allow anyone up there following—” Grif paused then, seeing Simmons’ flinch in recognition of the event he didn’t feel quite like referencing by any kind of name ( _shit, even talking about it now made him feel awkward!_ ), “Well, you know.”

Simmons said nothing, choosing to stare at the ground instead.

Grif continued talking, hoping that maybe he could just get them moving past this topic already for both of their sakes, “Things happened so quickly after that, I just never had the time.”

It was a partial truth, really.

He had joined the Resistance shortly afterwards, and that had woefully hindered his ability to nap anywhere he would have liked.

A lot of it also had to do with his general reluctance to go anywhere near Level One unless it was absolutely necessary to do so following the massacre, and with how ill at ease the very thought of climbing those rafters again made him.

He hoped it was enough of the truth for Simmons to buy it without pressing the matter any further.

His panic attacks were an embarrassing secret he was trying desperately to keep _anyone_ from finding out about.

Finally, his friend seemed to decide to drop the subject after a few awkward moments of silence.

“I—I don’t really want to go back to the hotel.” Simmons muttered, looking embarrassed at the reveal.

Ah, so that at least partially explained why the redhead had been so insistent on wanting to go see what Level One looked at night from the rafters.

In a way, Grif could understand why. Simmons was horribly self-conscious and returning drunk to where the fake peace talks were being held was probably an extremely mortifying thought for him.

It wasn’t like Grif thought the prospect of going back there in general was a great idea either, given its location and the less-than-friendly Above Ground military who would be on guard there.

Most places beyond late-night bars like the “Randy Offering” would be closed by now though.

Even the park in Level Three with the “Warthog” ( _it was a Puma though, seriously! People didn’t know how to fucking name things_ ) metal sculpture closed its gates by this time.

More than likely because drunks used to stumble in there to pee or something, and too many families would find them passed out face-first on the ground the next morning.

Going to base with Simmons in tow was definitely out of the question.

“The transports to the lower levels are always running. One should be close by.” Grif finally said.

That was if he could figure out exactly _where_ they were in Level Four at some point soon.  Hopefully, they’d exit out onto one of the main streets for the level soon.  He’d have no problem from there.

The Above Grounder simply gave him a blank stare, not understanding what Grif meant by the comment.

Grif sighed before explaining himself further, “There’s another place down here you haven’t seen in a while that you might get a kick from checking out, Simmons.”

*****

“You still have this place?” Simmons asked in surprise as he waited on swaying feet for Grif to unlock the door to his apartment.

Grif grinned, an almost proud look crossing over his tan face, “Well, Low Town isn’t exactly the most ideal residence spot in the Slums, but this place is _mine_.  Paid for and everything.  That’s hard to give up.”

Especially since it had taken a whole lot more effort than Grif ever cared exerting to hold onto it, to make it even remotely akin to a “home” for both himself and Kai when they were relocated down here after their mom had left.

It was a dump, no doubt about it. But, it was _theirs_.  That was something he wasn’t ever going to take for granted.

“Well, yeah, but…” Simmons seemed to be trying to choose his next words carefully, which almost made his eyes look crossed given how many drinks he had had before, “But, with you and Kaikaina both in the army now—”

“Kai only joined a few months ago, so she needed a place to live beforehand.” Grif cut his rambling off short to explain quickly.

“I kind of liked having my own place to recharge at when I got leave.” He glanced over at Simmons then, “Wouldn’t you?”

Simmons almost seemed to draw in on himself at the question, a pained look crossing over his features momentarily.

Grif frowned, about to apologize and not quite sure if he should ask what about the remark had caused the maroon-wearing soldier to get upset.

“I…haven’t really thought about it.” Simmons said before he could get the chance though, in a sheepish voice. The hurt look had dissipated from his eyes as the Above Grounder spoke.

Deciding it best to get over the awkwardness that seemed to envelope the situation then, the Slums dweller decided to carry on as if that moment hadn’t happened, “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to.”

Grif scoffed then, smiling in a joking fashion, “You probably don’t even sleep that much in the barracks at your base because you volunteer for extra work, right?”

The portion of his face that was still freckled reddened and Grif wondered just how close to the mark his comment had been. Simmons definitely over-achieved when it came to his work ethic in general.

“Being proactive isn’t a bad thing, Grif!”

He rolled his eyes, smirking, “Kiss-ass.”

“Fat-ass!”

The exchange had them both grinning by the time the door finally opened.

He really needed to get that digital lock fixed. The door took forever to respond when one entered the code in.  One of these days, he always thought to himself before promptly forgetting again.

“Yeah. I guess I should be saying sorry about the mess, huh?” Grif asked as they stepped inside, having heard a sharp intake of breath from the person following him in.

Even though Simmons didn’t really breathe anymore, it seemed he still had the reflexes all the same.

Both Grif and Kai had never been too big on cleaning or organizing. They tended to pretty much drop things on the ground of the closest available surface whenever they were done with them.

Eventually, they would force themselves to take a bag to the dump, but it was more on a monthly give-or-take basis than the usual weekly one most of the other apartment residents did.

There was always a whole lot of yelling involved to determine who would do it in the first place too.

It had been like that when Simmons had stayed there too, though admittedly it had gotten even worse since both Grif siblings were usually not there now for weeks at a time.

At least, Grif supposed, it was good from a hygienic stance that they had started throwing away food into the actual trash once it went bad instead of just leaving it like they used to.

Though, admittedly, that had more to do with them having found a family of roaches living out of a hollowed container of what had once been spoiled milk than anything else.

But, hey! It counted as some kind of progress, right?

Anything else though? Such as empty bottles, containers, or papers?  Still a free-for-all at the Grif household.  Electronic filing was so much easier comparatively, at least from a trash stance.

“It hasn’t really changed at all.” Simmons exclaimed, almost sounding awed as he surveyed the space.

The sense of awe mixed oddly with the obvious look of distaste that was clouding over his features as the Above Grounder looked over the apartment.

The scene definitely took Grif back to when Simmons had first been here.

“We clean the dishes now though.” Grif supplied helpfully, “Sometimes. When they start threatening to spill out over the sink.”

Simmons rolled his eyes and joked sarcastically, “I guess I had a positive influence after all.”

Grif shrugged and told him honestly, “More like the bugs did, but Kai _did_ find the chore wheel funny.  I think she still has it framed in her room.”

The Above Grounder sighed at that, but there was an oddly nostalgic look on his face as he stepped up to the ugly couch still in the middle of the living area.

It had been a pain in the ass to get in the apartment, so in Grif’s mind it was here to stay until it disintegrated into dust.

A blanket and pillow were still spread out over it from the last time Grif had been back home. Simmons was absent-mindedly removing snack wrappers from the top of them.

Figures. Liable as he was to pass out from alcohol, the nerd _still_ wanted to organize and clean.

“How are your cybernetics?” Grif asked quietly, his gaze going down the length of far-too-white (even with how pale Simmons naturally was) synthetic skin that was visible from the redhead’s face to the neckline of his shirt, “Bet they make sleeping difficult, huh?”

Which would be a definite downside to the whole cyborg thing in his mind.

Dexter Grif liked being comfortable and he liked being able to sleep. He especially liked comfortable sleeping.

That alone would probably make him not want to be a cyborg, even if the super strength and night vision stuff might be cool.

Simmons stiffened at the question, as if it had caught him off-guard. He refused to meet Grif’s eyes.

“It’s uncomfortable a lot of the time.” He finally admitted at length, “Even when I’m not resting.”

Grif must have looked at him oddly then, because the other man quickly elaborated, “I—I mean…it’s a lot better now than it used to be!”

Simmons smiled again, that odd self-deprecating one he had given Grif earlier when he’d recalled his near-death experience climbing up to the rafters, “It hurt like shit when I first had the operation. That pain has gone down a lot thanks to all of the upgrades and fine-tuning I’ve had done since then.”

The cyborg spoke not only as if he was trying to assure Grif, but himself too in a way.

The Resistance fighter frowned, wondering again as to why Simmons had decided on the augmentation in the first place.

Some of the abilities that came with the enhancements definitely sounded like they would be neat to have, but a lifetime of pain and discomfort that one walked into voluntarily?

He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He was afraid to really ask more about it though, as the topic seemed like an extremely uncomfortable one to the Above Grounder based on his body language whenever it was brought up.

Fuck, a year ago he seemed to panic at Grif simply asking about it when they’d first met up again.

So, the tan-skinned man decided not to really ask too many personal questions on the topic and play it up like it was no big deal to avoid Simmons being uncomfortable.

Any time Grif referenced it now was either in his usual joking way or when he didn’t think a question was _too_ heavy.  Or when he would try to put it in a more positive spin if Simmons seemed particularly negative about the subject.

Even then, it wasn’t foolproof that he wouldn’t get a look from Simmons as if Grif had just punched him in the gut.

Simmons gave him an awkward smile again, apparently deciding on his own it was best to change the subject as he said while indicating the couch, “I remember you letting me sleep here before.”

With that, the redhead plopped down onto the piece of furniture as if to see if it felt the same as he remembered.

The slight grimace as he did so wasn’t lost on Grif, though within a few moments of adjusting his position it seemed to dissipate from his features completely.

Simmons was lying down, staring up at the ceiling as he had when he’d crashed on the couch as an eighteen-year-old running away from home.

His expression was one of intense concentration, as if he was debating something inwardly.

Grif walked over then, leaving over the Above Grounder, “Hey, Simmons. Kai isn’t here this time so you can have the bed if you want.  I don’t know, might be more comfortable for you now.” He shrugged, “Besides, I crash on the couch all the time so I’m used—“

He had not been expecting Simmons to lean up just then, or the hug that followed. Grif stopped talking, caught off-guard as the redhead laid back again and pulled the Resistance fighter down on top of him in the process.

It was an awkward, uncomfortable jumble of body parts: the couch was pretty big, yes, but it was only really meant to have room for one person lying on it.

Simmons had to reposition himself in order to make room for both of them so that Grif would not immediately fall off if he lowered his arms any.

Not that there was much chance of that happening anytime soon, the redhead was holding on tight still after having pulled Grif down along with himself.

The action effectively caused the stockier of the two to be pinned somewhat between the cyborg and the back of the couch, though more due to his leg just getting stuck there due to the jostling.

They stayed like that for a few, painfully long seconds.

Simmons’ hands were clinging to Grif’s back.

Grif was staring at a neck with two shades of color to it, his breath slightly fogging up the synthetic skin there while causing goose bumps to form on the natural pale patches.

Simmons wasn’t saying anything.

Grif couldn’t tell if that was because his friend had passed out now with the effort, or if he had gone into an extreme panic mode because of his actions.

“S—Simmons?” He finally managed to get out, moving his head slightly to see wide eyes and an impossibly beet red face staring at him in shock.

His voice seemed to register in Simmons’ brain at least somewhat. The hands on his back started to _move_ , momentarily tightening their grip before making circular gestures as if attempting to be somehow reassuring.

Simmons had done that before as well, during the hostage situation when he’d tried telling Grif things were going to be okay.

Weird to remember that now of all times.

“S—sorry.”

Grif said nothing, at first having not been sure that he’d heard the whisper at all and still not entirely sure what was going on.

Or what Simmons would even be apologizing for in the first place.

Simmons had definitely been more than just a bit tipsy this whole night. But it was as if just now all of the alcohol he drank earlier was hitting him full-force, so the Above Grounder wasn’t making that much sense.

Perhaps that was one of those side effects of being a cyborg they just never showed you in the Old Earth movies.

Simmons’ about-to-burst-into-tears-any-second look was causing any complaint or joking commentary Grif could think of in response to what was happening to die in his throat.

“I’m sorry…about everything.” He was _sniffling_.

If Grif’s arms weren’t awkwardly stuck to his sides by the weird positioning, he’d be tempted to try returning the hug too as best he could with Simmons lying with his back on the couch as the redhead continued, “About hurting you.”

Suddenly, an odd sort of clarity struck Grif about Simmons’ drunken rambling.

He was talking about what had happened a year ago.

Because of Grif’s remark about Simmons not knowing his own strength during the conversation after he’d scared those ladies off.

Simmons had probably been dwelling on that all night given how self-conscious he was about his enhancements.

Grif asking him about the cybernetics moments before must have just brought the whole thing to the surface again due to him being drunk.

He should have known that Simmons would still be beating himself up this badly over the whole hostage situation.

He should have realized that _any_ remark about it was going to make him become that much more overly self-critical.

The man beat himself up for far less on a daily basis, after all.

Adding alcohol into that equation, and the fact that Simmons apparently reacted to being in a bar and getting stressed with copious amounts of drinking?

Well, you were liable to get some very strange, emotional outcomes.

Grif tried to get enough air into his lungs to tell Simmons not to worry about it, that he was just being his usual teasing asshole self, when one of the Above Grounder’s hands managed to somehow slip underneath his shirt.

The skin-on-synthetic skin contact instantly had his mind freezing up. The cooler hand on Grif’s back causing an odd sort of tingling feeling to travel all over his body.

The tan-skinned man had to fight back the urge to moan that inadvertently rose inside him, not entirely sure what to make of that reaction and knowing that all of this was happening just because Simmons was drunk and had no idea what he was doing in the first place.

Simmons was continuing to mumble, apparently oblivious to his hand’s movement or the effect it was having, “I—I’ve been practicing to—to know how strong I am now.” He was saying in a conversational tone, as if this was a point he felt he had to get across to someone at least, “To avoid hurting…or breaking things. I _have_ to.”

The redhead shifted again, thankfully stopping moving his hands across Grif’s back in the process.

His one hand rested underneath Grif’s shirt still though, and the Resistance fighter was surprised that he found it resting there to be more soothing than upsetting.

The Above Grounder’s new position meant that Grif was even more pinned between him and the back of the couch, laying pulled over top of Simmons.

Grif’s leg was going to cramp or fall asleep soon enough, just wait.

The redhead’s embrace tightened for a moment, but not to a suffocating or uncomfortable level.

A strange look that Grif couldn’t read at all crossed over Simmons’ eyes and features as he looked at the Slum resident’s tan face.

Simmons’ skin was still a vibrant shade of red all the way to his synthetic plating, though despite whatever embarrassment he was feeling he looked oddly intense and serious all the same.

“I—I _want_ to be gentle, Grif.” He murmured, voice only minimally slurred.

Simmons tilted his head slightly, so that his mouth was close to Grif’s ear.

Only a centimeter of movement and he’d probably have his lips touching the shell, “W—with you, especially.” The redhead looked to be taking in a shaky breath despite not having lungs anymore, “I—“

Whatever Grif’s extremely drunk friend was trying to get across to him through his stuttering was lost in the next second, as the door to the apartment suddenly swung open.

“ _I knew it!_ ” Kai shouted from the doorway at the top of her lungs upon seeing the two of them, an expression of utter glee suffusing her features.

She was standing there with a blonde girl who it took Grif a few seconds to recognize as Volleyball.

The two had been holding hands, he noticed, though they dropped them the second they had walked into the apartment.

His sister was still looking extremely pleased with herself, while the other lieutenant just gaped at the sight in surprise. To the blonde’s credit, there was a slightly apologetic look in her eyes at having walked in on Grif and Simmons.

The intrusion shocked Simmons right out of whatever he had been about to do.

He rolled onto the floor in an unceremonious heap, his position having been rather precarious due to his whole impromptu hug.

Grif followed him a few seconds later, though the Resistance fighter was much quicker to recover given that he often would fall off the couch when sleeping anyways.

He was back on his feet instantly, glaring at the intrusion.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kai?” Grif asked, even more annoyed than usual at his sister’s penchant for bad timing.

He honestly had no idea just what Simmons had been trying to say, but it had obviously been meant to be a private moment. Now?

Well, now the redhead was liable to die of embarrassment if he even remembered any of this.

For whatever reason as well, Grif realized for the first time that his own face felt rather heated too.

He was chalking it up more to just being embarrassed and exasperated over the interruption than anything else.

“I just came by to get something.” His younger sister made a face at his reaction to her walking into the apartment, following it by giving the two men a suggestive wink, “What were _you_ doing?”

“None of your business!”

Grif felt his face redden even more than it had been.

He wasn’t about to say that he hadn’t been quite so sure about what had been going on himself, knowing it would probably only give his little sister more teasing fuel later.

Volleyball turned to Kaikaina then, wide-eyed as realization settled over her face, “You do realize this would mean Jensen won the bet, right?”

“Oh, you’re right!” Kai grinned, nodding, “We should definitely tell her later.”

“No one is telling anyone anything!” Grif yelled in exasperation.

At the exact same moment that the tan man shouted that, Simmons suddenly shot up to a standing position. He’d apparently been busy trying to make himself into a tiny ball on the floor before then out of embarrassment.

The Above Grounder was still very much red-faced, but now there was a definite green tinge to his pallor as well.

The reasoning for that was quickly made apparent as he darted to the bathroom while avoiding eye contact with everyone present.

The sounds following his departure also left very little to the imagination.

Grif stared at the bathroom door worriedly, while Volleyball and Kai looked both sympathetic and disgusted all at once.

Couldn’t really blame them for that. Puking was definitely not a pleasant experience for anyone.

As much as Grif wasn’t a clean freak, he really hoped Simmons had made it to the actual toilet before inevitably emptying all of the drink and food contents from his stomach.

It didn’t take long once the retching sounds quieted down somewhat for Kai to turn her attention back to her older brother, a smirk forming on her face, “So, how far did you guys finally get?”

“God damn it, Kai!”

*****

The trip through the tunnels was rife with uncomfortable, awkward silence beyond York’s initial joking ( _and, let’s face it: pretty awesome_ ) banter.

But that was to be expected given _who_ he was traveling with and the current situation.

Carolina wasn’t the most talkative person to begin with, and given everything that had happened in the past? Well, that was even more the case now.

She had never exactly been one to shoot the breeze on stealth missions even on secure channels. So, naturally, silence was the rule of the game this time.

He remembered this one time back when Washington had somehow gotten his radio stuck on the secure channel for days while not out on a mission.

While York had found it hilarious that the younger Freelancer apparently sang off-key in the showers, their leader had _not_ appreciated hearing it while in the midst of a firefight.

The other team members _had_ been wanting to keep quiet for blackmail purposes since North and Florida weren’t on the mission to tell them to knock it off earlier, but an annoyed Carolina let the whole charade out of the bag when she promptly told Wash to shut up.

Poor kid had nearly died of embarrassment. From how he’d screamed, he must have thought that she had burst into the bathroom right then and there or something!

Though, really, Wash took that helmet everywhere _way_ too much.

York chuckled slightly at the recollection, which immediately caused the cyan-armored Freelancer to stop and look at him.

“Is something the matter, York?”

_Uh-oh. Better rein it in there, buddy._

“No, I was…just thinking about something.” He told her, “You remember that time you yelled at Wash for getting his radio stuck?”

He could tell she was frowning underneath her helmet, “Not the best time for reminiscence, York.”

“I know, I know. I just can’t help it.” He smiled nostalgically.

“Besides, if he was going to take long showers he needed a wider selection of songs.”

He hadn’t expected the joking commentary in turn, and he stared at her in surprise for a moment. But, Carolina was already one the move again.

He had to struggle to keep up with her quick pace, “You don’t think about the past much?”

Perhaps that was the wrong question for him to ask, given everything that had happened.

_Of course_ Carolina did.  Otherwise she wouldn’t be as close-guarded as she was now.

“I try not to.” She finally told him, a decidedly guarded edge to her voice, “It makes things harder, given what’s happened since.”

That was to be expected, unfortunately.

The brunette hung his head, “Carolina…”

What could he say though, really?

That he was _sorry_?  That wouldn’t have been a completely accurate statement.

Besides, she had always known him well enough to be able to tell when he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

York _was_ sorry for a lot of things in regards to the way thing had turned out though.

He was sorry that they had all been lied to.

Sorry for the Alpha, for Delta, and the other Fragments. Sorry for Flowers being dead.  Sorry for North in regards to South and Theta.  Sorry for Washington that they had to leave him behind when he had needed his team the most.  Sorry for poor Maine.

He was especially sorry for everything that had happened to Carolina as a result of what the Director had done.

But, York _couldn’t_ be sorry for deciding he’d had enough when he had finally learned the truth.

He couldn’t apologize for siding with Tex and leaving.

The former Freelancer had tried convincing her of it too.

He _knew_ Carolina.  Being both deceived and used wrongly were not things she generally would tolerate, but she was too stubborn.

She was too convinced of Tex being “the enemy” and wanting to believe the Director still.

York siding with Tex had been a betrayal of a trust she did not give easily. That was what had put up the wall between them now more than anything else.

“You were right, you know.”

She had said that so quietly, for a second he wasn’t even sure he had heard her correctly. He looked up at her, but Carolina was staring straight ahead.

“About the Director, at least.” She finally said at length, “About Freelancer.”

Because he was a glutton for a punishment apparently, York had to push the breakthrough further, “Not about Tex though?”

The redhead stiffened and he knew that that was where she was drawing the line on her concessions still, “There’s just…something about her that I can’t trust.”

He could almost understand the hidden meaning behind her words.

They were underlining Carolina’s initial views on a mysterious newcomer to Project Freelancer who had seemed “too perfect.” All while Carolina, the one who struggled the most to stay on top even when compared to the other top achievers of their group, couldn’t compare.

It was a pride issue to a degree, but something else was there too.

Tex’s ability _had_ always been more than a little disconcerting to everyone.

Granted, that tended to happen when you could throw a _fucking tank_.

With the Director’s focus on Tex and Carolina’s continuing struggle with trust in general, things were always going to be tense between two of them.

No matter what Tex tried to do.

He remembered how _defeated_ Tex had been when he woke up later after the rescue attempt had failed, when she’d recounted how she hadn’t been able to stop the transformed Maine.

How she had failed in rescuing Carolina too.

It had almost been as if she had wanted York to blame her for it as well.

She’d been shocked, even disbelieving, at his insistence that there was _no way_ someone as strong-willed as Carolina could be killed that easily.

_“Guess you were right after all.” She’d told him a year ago, shaking her head but with an odd smile forming on her face._

_Despite how freaking badly that last altercation had gone down and how much he’d_ hurt _, he had grinned back at the redhead, “Naturally. Our girl’s tough.”_

_Tex had clapped his shoulder then. Whether the action was in quiet agreement or in an odd way of trying to be comforting, he couldn’t tell._

_She never was the best when it came to that._

A part of him wondered if Carolina would ever believe that, given how her encounters with Tex tended to go.

“But, I do understand now why you left.” She stated, still not looking directly at him.

“Then why don’t you?” York asked, “If you know how messed up Freelancer is, if you don’t agree with the Council—”

She shook her head, cutting him off, “There are things I have to see done there first.”

Then it wasn’t just about her issues with Tex.

“Like what?” The brunette frowned, suddenly feeling even more uneasy, “Just what the hell are you and D up to?”

Her pace quickened, “I have my own mission, York.” She said curtly, “A personal one.”

While the Freelancer might be willing to see where York had been coming from with his defection, apparently that damned wall was still up in quite a few ways.

She was obviously reluctant to tell him any more information than that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to _try_ to figure things out still.

“Which is…?” York tried prompting.

Carolina turned to face him then, body language stiff as if she was just _waiting_ for an excuse to hit something.

In the past, that was usually a clear indication to back away a few feet, which he only didn’t do now because he was _that_ stubborn about wanting to find out what was going on.

“I need to find someone.” Her voice was sharp, and he could picture her green eyes narrowing, “Then I’m going to kill them.”

If it wasn’t Tex she was planning to take out, then judging by her earlier remarks only one person came readily to mind.

“The Director’s missing?” The former Freelancer asked, voice quiet.

The Resistance had heard _nothing_ about that during all of their information gathering.

Considering how highly valued the Director’s research had been, if he had just left or something had happened there should have been _some_ chatter.

“The Council’s been keeping it quiet.” She elaborated, apparently reading from his body language what he was thinking.

More pieces to an already extremely fucked up game that group was playing then.

“So, you think they’re intentionally hiding him so his crimes won’t come to light?” He asked.

It made sense. If he faced a military tribunal, there would be public speculation and talk.

Project Freelancer, for all of the Director’s actions, had provided some rather beneficial tech to Above Ground.

She shrugged, “Or so he can continue his side projects.”

“You think whatever they’re interested in down here could be connected to that too.” The brunette reasoned.

She nodded, “Astute as always, York.”

Yeah, she might have been hanging around Delta too much.

But, the reveal about her goal was _insane_.

Even for someone as strong as Carolina was, going after the Director and the Council on one’s own was a suicide mission.

He was about to say just that and prepare for the eventual beat down that would follow, when Delta suddenly flashed to life in front of them.

“There’s an odd energy signal some ways down this tunnel, Agent Carolina, Agent York.” He informed them, again pointedly not looking at York.

His friend most likely had known what Carolina was up to the whole time, so naturally he had trouble looking at York when he knew him to be shell-shocked over the recent reveal. Delta was a lot more like a human than he cared to admit at times as he continued, “I am uploading the coordinates.”

“Good.” Carolina was back to business as usual, which was a pretty clear sign she considered that particular topic of conversation over and done with as she was no doubt thinking she had revealed too much, “Will we be the first ones there?”

“Negative. There appears to be several unknown people in the vicinity already.”

Despite wanting to argue and try to once again reason with Carolina even though he knew how futile it would be, York went back to the task at hand with Delta’s news too.

Changing focus certainly didn’t halt the heavy feeling forming in his stomach after Carolina’s revelation though.

“No one in the Resistance should be in this area but me.”

They considered it too unstable a zone to just wander into constantly without a lot of preparation and notifications, after all.

Carolina exchanged a look with York then, “So we’ve found some of the Above Ground tag-alongs.”

“Highly likely.” Delta agreed.

They moved quickly and silently then, now that they were certain they weren’t alone down here.

32-A was a bitch to traverse through even _with_ night-vision in their helmets.  The darkened, lifeless space they encountered was strewn about with rubble.

It made it hard to imagine anyone else being there, but he knew enough from past experiences to trust D’s scans.

Eventually, Carolina took a sharp left turn into a narrow side corridor. Her speed increased as she maneuvered through the thin, maze-like spaces they encountered with an agility that would make any dancer jealous.

Obviously, Delta’s coordinates were even further off the beaten path than 32-A was.

It was only on a very technical stance that the off-shoot tunnels would count as 32-A still on a map. They could just as easily connect to other main tunnels at certain points and then be considered part of them instead.

York was surprised when a rather bright light illuminated the air before them.

The corridor they had been in spilled out into what appeared to be the side wall of a huge mining shaft far larger than any of the ones he had seen so far in active use in the tunnels.

Peering down cautiously, it looked as if the tunnel continued down a very large descent. At the very bottom of the shaft, with the artificial lights they had brought with them, he could make out several heavily-armed figures.

All of whom were bearing the insignia of a very specific group of mercenaries.

York was also pretty sure that one of them was that dick, Locus. Next to him was the only differently dressed figure of the group, this one wearing familiar white armor that made the Resistance fighter frown slightly.

“That’s definitely Wyoming.” The former Freelancer whispered.

Carolina said nothing, and he fought the urge to clap her shoulder consolingly.

He was just as awkward as Tex sometimes when it came to that sort of thing, especially when he couldn’t tell if the gesture would be remotely welcome in this type of situation.

The mercenaries and Wyoming were standing around some kind of large, spherical object.

From the design and odd sheen it had in the light, it almost looked as if it could be some kind of alien tech. Though, if it was, it wasn’t like any kind he had ever seen before.

Maybe whatever it was had been the reason the aliens had been in 32-A in the first place?

If they had been trying to defend this area in order to keep Above Ground from knowing the exact location of this object, that theory would certainly make sense.

Whatever the object was, it seemed to be inactive though as it was remarkably dull.

Usually, any active alien tech tended to have a very obvious glow around it or from within.

“Getting closer would risk us being detected by Gamma.” Delta informed them quietly.

“He still has Gamma?” York was surprised, though he supposed he shouldn’t be.

After all, Wyoming hadn’t defected like they had officially and Maine hadn’t been seen since that whole episode either.

Neither Carolina nor Delta bothered answering the brunette’s question, as the answer was pretty obvious already.

“We don’t need to, Delta. We were just trying to locate them and figure out what they were after down here.” Carolina’s tone was serious, “Besides, I have an idea as to what that thing is.”

“You do?” York glanced at it again, noting that the object _did_ look vaguely familiar somehow now that she mentioned it.

“It was in the databases at the Mother of Invention.” Delta informed him helpfully, “Though this is by far the most intact one to date by appearances.”

The former Freelancer stared at it again, the shape finally jogging his memory of something he’d read in passing a long time ago.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, feeling cold all over.

A few of the alien ships that had crash-landed here had been carrying with them pieces of tech that apparently were more or less foreign to them as well. These pieces of tech reportedly came from some other civilization out there in the universe, probably long gone by now.

No one really knew much about the tech because it wasn’t exactly like the aliens were in the mood to talk to people, and there was the whole language barrier beside.

But, persuasive techniques on a few unfortunate aliens early on revealed how they had hoped to eventually utilize those particular tech for their own purposes before getting stranded here.

Tech like the giant orb down below, which they’d thought was some kind of power generator.

York didn’t really know much about it beyond that it was thought to be able to produce some kind of nearly limitless energy on quite an impressive scale.

The kind of energy that fell roughly into the “nearly impossible for humans to truly comprehend” levels.

However, it was seemingly useless without the proper tools to activate it.

The aliens had apparently been transporting it back to their home-world to figure out ways to finally harness some of that tech’s potential for themselves safely when they had gotten stuck here.

Most of that tech now was pretty much just lawn ornaments, give or take.

Though there was always the possibility that some of the alien’s own advanced tech could eventually unlock some of the mystery technology at some point.

If someone could get something like that power generator operating again, its destructive capability in particular could be off the charts.

Which is why there was even less of that tech left. The aliens usually destroyed it themselves after they were stranded to prevent it from going to humans.

Perhaps this one piece had been hidden away in the hopes that they could get to use it to get off the planet or as a potential weapon later. Who knew?

“York, get a comm channel open to the Resistance leader.” Carolina told him, stepping back from the far too exposed but higher vantage point they’d been looking down from.

So far, no one had looked up because they were obviously more focused on what was happening in their immediate area, but it was probably best not to keep assuming that would stay the case.

“Right.”

Yeah, this was bad news not only for everyone down here to be sure, but for _everyone_ in general.

“The peace talks make a lot more sense now. Somehow Hargrove found out something like this was still in the tunnels.”

Carolina was moving back the way they had come, York following. It was suicide to stay with so few numbers.  It would be best to regroup and strike in force.

“It certainly kept everyone distracted long enough to buy them the time to locate and transport the damn thing before anyone noticed what they were up to.” He muttered in agreement.

“Delta, transfer the coordinates to York.” She stated, turning to the brown-haired man, “You can send them to your teammates that way.”

He stared at her, surprised, “You’re not staying?”

This was huge. It was also, obviously, a matter she knew well enough affected everyone.

It was odd to think she wouldn’t want to take part in the skirmish to prevent the generator from getting into the Council’s hands.

“If something does end up going wrong, you’ll need someone to figure out just what they’re planning to do with that thing.” The Freelancer said matter-of-factly, “I am fairly certain you lost that when C.T. joined you.”

So, Carolina had managed to put two-and-two together on _that_ front too.

He frowned, though he knew her logic was pretty sound from a strategic “covering-all-the-bases” stance.

York just wished it _wasn’t_ , probably for personal reasons.

“Does that mean you’ll be holding off on the whole killing-yourself-for-revenge-thing until this is settled?”

He was pretty certain she was frowning at his word choice there when the redhead replied: “No promises.”

“Carolina—” York tried again, hoping she wouldn’t punch him this time.

“ _There is no time for this now, York._ ” She said with such finality that he stopped.

He knew that to be true even though it sort of hurt almost as bad as getting punched did.

There was never enough time to say all there was to say, even _when_ he’d had more time for it.

Now he definitely didn’t have any at all.

Carolina was leaving and, as always, he hurried to keep up, “I have to get my moronic cousin and his squad out of here before Hargrove decides this charade isn’t worth keeping up any longer. You have to see to getting your side ready for what’s about to happen.”

The Resistance fighter did have to pause again though, confused by her wording just then.

“Cousin?” He asked, “You mean Church?”

Her pace didn’t let up at all this time, “I thought you knew that.”

York frowned, about to say something when suddenly Delta was in his field of vision.

“York, may I have a word?”

Carolina nodded her head as if to say she would give them a few seconds, perhaps thinking they were going to have parting words since it had been awhile since the two partners had properly spoken.

She even walked further down the tunnel to give them some privacy.

“D, do you know what that was about just now?” York asked quietly, afraid to know what he was already beginning to suspect might be the answer.

If it _was_ true, then Carolina had more reasons to want the Director dead than even she was aware of.

The sick feeling in his stomach increased.

“I have my suspicions, but I am hesitant to voice them until I know for certain.”

Delta all but confirmed it right there.

“That’s—!”

_Heartless. Insane.  Cruel._

One could take their pick.

Just another of the things York felt sorry about.

“Forcing it could be highly traumatic for _both_ people involved.” Delta reasoned calmly, gently even, “I would not recommend it.”

So not only Church then, but Carolina too?

He wondered absentmindedly if Tex would count that as another failure.

He sure as hell was.

Delta seemed to sense York’s negative reaction to the news, “I assure you that I am watching out for both of them, York.”

The former Freelancer knew logic was only part of the reason why too. That Delta was watching out for them and telling York so to try to comfort him.

He’d been inside his head. He’s always known York’s all-too illogical feelings.

“Thanks, D.” York smiled slightly, despite himself.

“It’s what makes us human.” Delta echoed back a phrase York had always told him whenever he’d questioned his human partner’s actions.

“True enough.” The nostalgic moment passed, and he turned serious, “I won’t tell her this because she’ll kick my ass, but I better see both of you again.”

Then York followed through with a simple, “Stay safe, D.”

“You as well, York.”

With that, his friend flickered over to Carolina again. The redhead stared silently at York for a few more seconds before suddenly turning and disappearing down the tunnel.

He sighed. That had certainly been a better ending than the last time they’d met from a physical stance at least, but the brunette felt even more hurt than he had a year ago all the same.

As upsetting as Carolina’s reveals had been, that wasn’t even the _tip_ of the iceberg.

Now he was left to wait with his thoughts. He’d forgotten how radio reception in 32-A always sucked for some reason.  Perhaps it had to with the battle that had been fought here earlier.

Or quite possibly it was the giant, mysterious potential death trap located fairly close by. Take your pick.

After a few more minutes, the radio finally clicked on and he heard Kimball’s voice.

_“York. Anything to report?”_

Judging by her tone of voice, she almost sounded like she was hoping he would say _“no.”_

Not that he could really blame the Resistance leader for that given the circumstances.

The former Freelancer would have preferred that to this news himself.

That’s for damn sure.

The brunette sighed reluctantly, pulling himself together because he knew that was what he had to do just then.

“Yeah, there’s something all right.” York informed her, “If we don’t act soon we are probably all fucked.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Somehow the second half of the one big massive chapter turned out to be even larger than the first was! XD I regret nothing (except for the stuff that I do, haha!).
> 
> I apologize for the romance stuff again if it seemed strange. I’m never too confident with writing that. But, finally got the whole party thing out of my system with this part while also doing some more plot reveals. Next chapter will have some awkward “after” moments, and will also be when stuff starts getting REAL. XD
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this really lengthy chapter. Thank you very much for reading! :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Sixteen:

“Well, that certainly did the trick.” C.T. noted wryly with a slight smile forming on her lips, glancing over at her babysitting charge across the room.

Junior was currently making a sound that seemed roughly like the alien equivalent of snoring, the motion of his chest causing the armor covering him to rise and fall as well. He had graduated from jumping on tables to apparently napping: the alien child lying flat out on his back right next to a snoozing Jensen doing very much the same thing.

Both of them peacefully dozing away was a surprisingly heartwarming sight: a miniature version of the adult aliens she had seen either in person or through video feed during her career in Freelancer, and a tan girl with a slight whistle to her breath as she slept thanks to the always present retainer in her mouth.

Considering how much activity it had required to get Junior to his current state, it was pretty obvious as to why Jensen was also taking a break too. Even Connecticut had to admit to being a bit more worn out than usual after Junior’s insistence that he not go through the obstacle course alone.

They were still in the room that Sarge had apparently claimed as his personal training area for the new recruits on base, Junior pretty much conking out right where he had been standing after having finished his last run-through of the obstacle course. Jensen had promptly followed Junior into slumber mode after asking for “just five more minutes” of a breather.

It made sense considering the young lieutenant had helped the child through the course three times previously, Junior having begged her to do so after she’d been not as good at directing him through the trickier spots from the sidelines. Jensen seemed to have been having fun despite the tiredness, a smile appearing on her face even now as she napped.

“Tell me about it.” The older man standing next to her snorted in mild disbelief as he regarded the two youngsters on the other side of the water part of the course as well, “Though how Tucker’s alien love-baby went through that course _five_ times before passing out is beyond me.”

With Junior in tow, the two lieutenants and C.T. had asked Sarge for permission to use the obstacle course set here in order to keep Junior entertained for at least a little while.

It was a rather impressive work of construction, the former Freelancer noted. She even thought in some ways that it outdid the training hall in the Mother of Invention, especially factoring in the lack of resources available in the tunnels and Slums that had no doubt been a massive hindrance to the building process at times.

She was _still_ trying to map her head around the moat portion, honestly.

The commanding officer of Red Team had been more than willing to allow them to use the course, especially since he had thought all of the lieutenants would instead be _“trying to avoid the danged thing in any way imaginable”_ after their first experience with it.  Sarge had actually looked rather impressed that that hadn’t apparently been the case.

He even commented rather appreciatively on Smith’s resourcefulness in having even come up with such a tactic in the first place, to which Smith had beamed and both C.T. and Jensen glanced at each other with a shared look of confusion over how trying to keep a child entertained somehow equated to military strategy.

Though, having seen Sarge simply eating at the mess hall, C.T. was of the mindset that he approached even the most basic of routines in his life as if they required military protocol at all times. She supposed it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine him viewing babysitting in a similar way.

His one stipulation in allowing it was that he would be able to observe the play date or, in his own words, _“the exercises.”_ It was rather likely that Sarge had probably been more than just a little curious about what the alien child’s physical capabilities were.

Judging by the expression on his face as the hours waned, he was also using his observations to contemplate potential brainstorms for future ways to improve the course for Resistance training, or even for his own personal amusement.

Knowing Sarge, it was more than likely a combination of both that was mulling over in his mind. He didn’t say too much when C.T. asked about any future building obstacle additions, though his question to her on whether or not she thought a _“dive away and take cover from a sudden grenade toss”_ part near the end of the course would be somewhat over-the-top was a bit worrisome

The glimmer still in his brown eyes from his mental blueprint plans, he scratched his chin thoughtfully while motioning with his head towards Junior, “Ya think Tucker will let him train when he gets older?” Sarge asked in his gruff voice, “The potential sure as hell’s there already.”

C.T. frowned in thought, surprised that Sarge would even be considering potentially scouting an alien given the general stance most soldiers had on them due to the less-than-friendly relations between the two species whenever they had come into contact in the past.

The brunette supposed it was good he kept an open mind towards the prospect, all things considered.

“I honestly have no idea.” She finally told him, “He probably hasn’t even thought of anything like that yet.”

The question made her wonder what Tucker generally thought of when thinking about his son’s future. It was a difficult subject filled with concern and worry for _most_ parents given what was happening in the world now, and Junior’s situation was decidedly more complex than most other children’s would be.  Even things like education would be difficult.  When Junior got older, what then?  For all anyone knew, he was the only alien left alive on the planet.  That was bound to make socializing or even having a regular life all the more challenging in a lot of ways.

She didn’t envy Tucker the worry he probably had whenever he thought about it, especially knowing that anxiety would probably increase as Junior grew up.

She’d seen the two of them interacting together. It was obvious there was love and affection there.  Tucker was already often putting on a brave face to keep the young boy from worrying about the fighting his father was involved in.  It was admirable of him, to be sure.

Hopefully that would help both of them later on, when it would be even more necessary to think about what lay ahead.

“It’ll probably be a few more years before he could, at any rate.” Sarge said, almost sounding disappointed at the prospect of having to wait that long.

“Maybe the fighting won’t be as much of an issue by then.” C.T. stated quietly in response, though the woman knew it to be a rather foolish sentiment given how relations between the Slums and Above Ground had always been even before the recent conflict escalations.

Sarge was, naturally, more than willing to further point that out to the brunette.

“Please! That kind of talk is for hippies and their hand circles, not soldiers!” He scoffed, waving his hand through the air dismissively, “If we’re not constantly fighting, someone’s liable to grab us by the throats when we least expect it!”

In a way, she could understand that kind of logic, as morbidly and depressingly worded as it was. It made a sad, twisted sort of sense given the situation they were in.

She knew that even the same side in a conflict would sometimes screw over their own ranks in order to get the desired results. After all, C.T. had seen what had occurred within Freelancer personally.  She also knew a little about what had caused Sarge to defect down to the Slums as well.

His viewpoints were understandable given what he had experienced.

“Still, as unrealistic as it might be,” he interrupted her darker thoughts then, Sarge’s voice oddly quiet as he spoke instead of having its usual booming weight to it: “I guess it would be nice for some of the folk down here to get some sort of respite from the fighting for a good, long while.”

It was a surprising sentiment coming from a man who supposedly slept with his shotgun. Hard to say for certain if that was true or not since Grif was the one who started the rumor, but Sarge _did_ seem to have a strong attachment to his weapon of choice all the same.

Still, she felt herself nodding her head in quiet agreement to the older soldier’s statement.

“I’d still want soldiers on the alert at all times though.” Sarge apparently felt the need to point out, lest C.T. thought he was becoming too soft-minded with his hypothetical wishful scenario talk, “There’s a world of difference between being hopeful and downright suicidal.”

One couldn’t really argue with that logic, either.

The door to the large training area opened just then behind them, and a familiar figure in tan armor with blue trim stepped through it.

“Sarge, sir!” Smith came running up then, saluting both of them, “Agent Connecticut.”

“You can just say C.T., Lieutenant.” She told him politely, “It’s shorter to say.”

“Of course.” The older lieutenant tried it out just then, “Agent C.T.”

A bit of an improvement, at least, even if hearing the _“agent”_ before her nickname was a bit odd to her.

It was odd to think of, but her name seemed to change depending on where she was in her life. _“Connie”_ she always felt was a kid’s name. _“Agent Connecticut”_ was the Freelancer.  The name _“C.T.”_ was the start of her disillusionment with the program and all of her subsequent decisions that followed.

Though, given Smith’s tendency to want to use titles when addressing those he considered his superiors in terms of rank, it seemed _“Agent C.T.”_ would have to do for the moment.

“I take it you finished walking Caboose’s killer robot?” The older soldier in red questioned Smith following their exchange.

While Junior had been running the obstacle course for the second time, the black-haired lieutenant had excused himself to take care of a personal mission he had been entrusted with. That was specifically ensuring that Freckles had his nightly walk as per Caboose’s suggestion.

“Yes, sir!” Smith gave an affirmative nod, “He is resting now.”

Sarge harrumphed and muttered under his breath, shaking his head in slight disapproval: “Darn thing gets more naps than Grif does. Caboose spoils him, if you ask me.”

It was hard to envision an assault droid needing naps or subsequently being spoiled, but C.T. decided it was best not to mention that as doing so would probably lead inexplicably to a tangent on _“fat, lazy good-for-nothings who wear orange”_ given the Grif mention earlier.

“Captain Caboose believes that proper rest should help to keep Freckles more alert, sir.” Smith explained, “He always emphasizes the importance of rest and a good night’s sleep.”

“If Caboose says so. I guess here’s to hoping all that shut eye keeps his aim great.” Sarge still looked rather unconvinced as he shuddered, “Though if that were true then Grif would be the most alert person we’d have enlisted.  Ain’t that a scary thought?!”

Deciding it was best to perhaps steer the conversation away from Sarge’s dislike of his subordinate, Smith changed topics quickly, “How did things go with Junior?”

“See for yourself.” C.T. motioned to where the two still snoozing youngsters were.

“He went through the course like a seasoned pro three more times after you left before he finally tuckered out.” Sarge stated, still sounding rather impressed over the achievement.

“He does have a lot of energy, and stamina too.” The former Freelancer noted, “Jensen did her best at keeping up though.”

It had brought a small nostalgic smile to her face, recalling how Jensen’s earlier attempts to guide Junior through the trickier portions of the course vocally had ultimately resulted in the two of them racing through it together.

“All of you have a lot of fight.” Sarge said, chest puffing up slightly with pride, “Even Dye Job. Makes me think there might be hope yet for the future of the Resistance.”

“Thank you, sir!” Smith looked absolutely touched at the sentiment.

“’Course all the hope in the world won’t mean squat if we don’t train and prepare constantly to the point of absolute exhaustion both mentally and physically.” The Red Team leader surmised, “I’ll have to brainstorm some new exercises. Have a few ideas in mind already!”

The gleam in his dark eyes and the odd sort of chuckle that followed his last sentence made C.T. think back on his question about _“grenade throwing”_ as a possible addition to the routine.

Suddenly, she felt slightly nervous at what else he could possibly be thinking of adding to what already appeared to be a rather intimidating training regimen.

On the other hand, Smith seemed positively excited at the prospect of future challenges. His blue eyes were shining eagerly just at the thought.  She supposed that was to be expected though, given some of the training techniques he’d undergone already with Caboose.

The older lieutenant’s views on leadership and unorthodox training regimens were quite different from the norm, it seemed.

“Thanks for the suggestion, Smith.” C.T. told him in the lull of conversation that followed Sarge’s announcement, “Junior really did enjoy himself.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure, Agent C.T.” He responded with a warm smile, “Sometimes children just need a constructive way to have fun and use up excess energy.”

From the look in his eyes, it seemed that he had most likely drawn that up from personal experience. The almost nostalgic flicker across his face just then appeared to be both warm and sad all at the same time.

It was an expression she had seen on Smith’s face more than once whenever he mentioned certain things that seemed to be connected to his past. The former Freelancer was almost tempted to ask about it, but once again decided not to.

“If there’s ever a next time that I end up watching Junior for Tucker, I might just need your help again.” C.T. chose to say instead, smiling wryly.

“Of course!” The momentary sadness faded completely from his features and Smith smiled widely in response.

C.T. was trying to come up with something else to say when an all-too familiar ping came from her armor. It was the noise used to inform someone of an incoming transmission, an advisory note that they might want to put their helmet on in order to receive it.

She saw Sarge stiffen slightly at the same time, and she knew that he must have also received the quiet noise signal from his armor. Her suspicions were confirmed when he put his helmet on seconds later.

She picked hers up from where she’d had it resting on the ground while she’d been watching Junior and Jensen at play. The moment the brunette’s helmet sealed over her head a line of text began showing up directly before her dark eyes. 

It was a message from Kimball, and a rather serious one at that. Her mouth went dry the further along she continued to read.

The pings had apparently only come from their armor, meaning the corresponding message was only going to certain people. It had been the secure method she and Tex had used to communicate with one another before back when C.T. was still with Freelancer, instead of using the more common radio frequencies.

Smith frowned while watching his two superiors, clearly knowing that something was going on given their sudden changes in demeanor but not sure what exactly it was. Since the lieutenant didn’t know the protocol for such situations, and didn’t want to interrupt them while their focus was elsewhere, he remained silent.

“Well, things sure went downhill even faster than I thought.” Sarge spoke up in response a few seconds later, voice grim.

C.T. said nothing, finding the remark a major underestimate given the information they had just received. She gathered Sarge knew that well enough himself already given the tone of his voice just then and his still stiff posture.

If York was correct on what that object in 32-A the mercenaries were interested in was, then…

“Is something happening?” John Smith finally worked up the courage to ask them, looking between the two nervously.

“Yes, indeed, Lieutenant.” Sarge’s voice, surprisingly enough given the serious news they had just received and his earlier remark, now had an odd eagerness to it.

C.T. could _almost_ picture him grinning under his helmet despite everything they just learned as he gleefully stated to the new recruit: “Looks like this whole fake diplomatic approach just got kicked in the ass!”

*****

There were worse ways to wake up, Lavernius Tucker supposed.

Granted, at the moment, he was hard-pressed to really think of them. Not with Agent I-Am-Better-Than-You-At-Holding-Liquor-And-I-Don’t-Put-My-Insanely-Large-Weapons-Cache-Away Washington bitching about _something_ way too damn early for that kind of shit, while also having one really massive headache.

Both of which basically resulted in Tucker sitting upright on the bed with his head in his hands and groaning, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

This caused Washington to sputter and yell even more. The Freelancer’s face was turning a shade of red in the process that Tucker usually only ever associated with either Sarge getting pissed off at Grif, or Lieutenant Matthews whenever the poor kid got embarrassed over something.

So, Washington was angry-embarrassed, then? What a fucking weird combination.

Currently, Tucker was more focused on just trying to get the searing pain from his migraine to go down. The blonde’s yelling, along with the room kind of spinning too, wasn’t really helping any.

On the plus side, at least it seemed like the Resistance fighter wasn’t too queasy or anything. Though that was probably more due to having thrown everything up he’d had in his stomach awhile back.

Definitely never doing _that_ again, especially since the night hadn’t exactly ended like he had hoped ( _Bow-chicka-bow-wow!)._

Not that spilling his guts to a relative stranger hadn’t been all sorts of fun. Which was total fucking sarcasm, because it hadn’t been.

Though, oddly enough, he didn’t feel nearly as upset or annoyed about having told Washington all of that stuff as he thought he would be given how he usually never brought it up to people. Tucker assumed that was probably because the Above Grounder knew enough to not be a judgmental ass over it.

The puking, the hangover, and another grown man’s freak-out however? Yeah, he could have lived without all of that.

Yet, here Tucker was, having slept in fucking _Level One_ of all places.

There was an odd sense of cathartic release in that knowledge. The dark skinned man was kind of grateful in a way that Washington had inadvertently helped him get out a big old _“Fuck you!”_ to the Council, even if it was just because the older man was probably being too “Freelancer stubborn” to admit he couldn’t remember the way back to the bar.

None of those assholes would ever really know about it or care, but it was a symbolic victory all the same. Or some shit like that.

Though, _not_ having his brain want to pound through his skull would probably make that knowledge sweeter.

“Seriously, just put your clothes back on!” He was finally able to make out Washington’s getting-shriller-by-the-moment voice, “Tucker, _please_.”

Tucker frowned, the words starting to actually gel in his mind. He glanced down at his bare ( _and fucking awesome if he did say so himself!_ ) thigh, and then at the clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor near the bed.

_Then_ he glanced up at Washington, who had started tapping his foot impatiently on the ground, darting his gray gaze to anywhere else _but_ Tucker.

Yeah, the younger soldier assumed that the Above Grounder didn’t realize that normally that kind of reaction would only make a person like Tucker want to do the exact fucking opposite of whatever he wanted them to do just to annoy him more.

Oh, well, at least that explained what had seemed to frustrate the Freelancer.

Tucker hadn’t even realized that he had been _that_ much out of it when he’d crashed earlier.  He must have totally forgotten about his tendency to sleep naked.

Realizing that he’d stripped for bed in an acquaintance’s hotel room, and that said acquaintance had seen everything caused Tucker’s face to get increasingly warm.

It probably didn’t help that whenever Washington _did_ look his way, it seemed like it was with quick glances to Tucker’s chest and legs that caused the Freelancer to become even more red-faced himself.

The Slums resident grinned sheepishly, figuring it was probably best for both of them to move things along quickly and get the whole situation into “No Big Deal” territory as soon as possible, “Sorry, man. Forgot I wasn’t at my _place of residence_.”

Teasing him again about Washington’s earlier silly word phrasing seemed to help a bit, as the blonde rolled his eyes. It also gave Tucker the opportunity to stand up and grab his clothes, grimacing as he did so because _fuck_ did his head hurt.

“You sleep naked?” The Above Grounder finally asked as Tucker started changing with his back to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tucker could see the Freelancer glancing over at his still bare back for a moment and quickly averting his gaze to a spot on the ground to keep the other man from seeing.

There was even an odd lilt in Washington’s voice, though thankfully for him Tucker was a bit too hung over to really catch it and mock him for it.

“Usually.” Tucker was pulling the shirt on over his head now, “Normally not for sleepovers though.”

He was certain the sleepover remark had probably gotten an eye-roll at least, and Tucker grinned at the thought as Washington said sarcastically, “I can imagine not.”

“But, I was so fucking plastered last night it probably didn’t even cross my mind. Force of habit and all that.” He shrugged, before stepping in front of the Freelancer to showcase that he was in fact fully clothed again and that the older man could stop having a panic attack like a big baby.

Washington relaxed visibly, though his cheeks were still red, “Yes, well, given how much you had to drink I suppose that was understandable.”

Because he still looked horribly awkward over the whole thing, and it was rare to be the one recovering quicker as Washington tended to be a bit of a smug asshole whenever he bested Tucker at other things, the Resistance fighter smirked.

“Did you enjoy the view?”

His joking commentary caused Washington’s face to get even _redder_.  Tucker couldn’t help but laugh, even if he had to stop two seconds later due to the pounding in his skull. _Fuck that hurt!_

“I am not even going to respond.” Washington finally said lamely, turning away.

“Dude, that totally counted as a response!” The dark skinned man pointed out, adding: “Besides, it was kind of a valid question.”

Washington looked about ready to argue that point even though his still pink-tinged face proved otherwise, when there was a knock on the door.

The two men glanced at each other. For a moment, Tucker wondered if he would have to crawl out a window or something.  With his headache and from the eighth level, it would probably be tricky.

Not to mention weird as all shit given how he hadn’t really done anything, beyond forgetting the when-drunk-don’t-forget-to-keep-clothes-on rule Washington apparently had but didn’t bother telling Tucker about until after he’d already broken it.

So, it was totally more Washington’s fault anyways. If someone really wanted to think about it, that is.

“Wait here.” The Freelancer told him curtly, heading to the door.

Tucker wanted to argue because it wasn’t like the older man could boss him around, but the rational part of his mind told him not to. The younger man very rarely listened to that part of his brain in his daily life, but he knew when there were instances where it was probably better to do so.  This most likely counted as one of them.

Washington had been not-that-big-of-a-jerk by letting him crash here and everything, and making a scene could get either him or the Resistance in trouble. Besides, with Tucker’s head as it was, any sudden movements were going to be tricky.

Neither of them had expected to see a smiling Doctor Emily Grey on the other side of the door, looking for all the world as if she’d just had a full night’s rest instead of having been out on the town.

“Hello, Agent Washington!” She peered past the bewildered man and her brown eyes landed on Tucker, “And Tucker too!  Didn’t expect to see you here.”

There was something akin to a smirk in her voice at that last part, and even a knowing look on her face. The Resistance fighter felt his face flush slightly, and he pointedly decided _not_ to glance over at Washington’s raised eyebrow to see more of his reaction.

“Things came up. He let me crash here.” Tucker mumbled.

“Of course he did.” She made it very obvious she didn’t buy that for a second, “Agent Washington is quite conscientious.”

…Maybe he should lay off teasing Grif to his face about his domestic life for a little while, after this.

Thankfully, the Freelancer seemed totally oblivious to what Grey was really thinking happened between the two of them.

“Is there something you need, Doctor Grey?” Washington asked her, trying to sound courteous.

“Nope!” She grinned, “I just figured I’d come by and see how you were doing, given all of the alcohol intake last night.”

The blonde shrugged, “I’m fine. More or less.”

Of course he was, even with how much he had drunk. Asshole.

Tucker felt rather envious, though he also suspected that even if Washington _was_ hung over he would probably be too fucking stubborn to admit it.

There was a slight grimace that would light the blonde’s face every so often when he didn’t think anyone was paying attention, which he would quickly school into his usual hard-ass expression mere moments later. It certainly seemed to indicate to Tucker that perhaps he was right about the Above Grounder being secretly hung over.

Washington frowned, looking over towards him, “Tucker, on the other hand—”

“Oh, fuck you, man.” Tucker interrupted though he winced at the same time, slightly lessening the impact of his insult.

The fucker actually looked _amused_ too, that smug slight smirk crossing over his lips again.  Figures this was just what Washington needed to get over the whole embarrassment of seeing him naked.  Tucker really couldn’t catch a break here.

Grey at that moment pushed herself inside without waiting for an invitation, heading over to Tucker and handing him two green pills.

“This is great for hangovers.” She explained, “I passed them out to everyone else after you’d left. I was going to give these to Washington, but since he obviously doesn’t need them…”

She winked conspiratorially as she let her sentence trail off, and Tucker couldn’t help but grin in response. Apparently the doctor had also caught on to Washington most likely just playing it cool about being hung over.

“Thanks.” Tucker eagerly swallowed both of the pills then.

“You’re welcome! Only half of the lab rats it was tested on developed seizures and died!” The dark-haired woman stated cheerfully.

Tucker groaned, noticing Washington smirking at him and promptly giving him the finger in response.

“But, the human trials have been more successful for the most part.” She added.

“Maybe you should lead with that part first.” He stated dryly.

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” The female Above Grounder grinned, and a slight chill ran through him.

Tucker made a mental note that he was _never_ going to piss Doctor Emily Grey off.

As they were talking, Washington had moved over to a data pad that had been hidden behind some equipment on the opposite side of the room. He was now glancing at it, an odd look crossing over his face.

When the Freelancer turned around, an even darker than usual look had come over his features.

“Tucker, I think you should leave.” Washington said briskly, adding in response to the confused looks the other two people in the room were giving him, “ _Now._ ”

*****

Well, he supposed there were _worse_ ways to leave an impression beyond making a mess in someone’s bathroom.

Granted, at the moment, Richard “Dick” Simmons was struggling to come up with one. Desperate as he was by this point, he was honestly considering simply shoving his head inside the Grif household’s trash bin until he passed out due to embarrassment.

Well, _almost_.  He wasn’t _that_ eager to die just yet.

After he had finally stopped drunkenly heaving and the room seemed to be spinning a whole lot less than it had before, the cyborg had come to the bleak realization that at some point he’d have to venture outside the bathroom and face what was no doubt going to be complete and utter mortification.

Alternatively, the redhead’s flight instincts at first had come up with the brilliant idea of possibly just heading out through the bathroom window, but that was really only a stall tactic to delay the inevitable.

Also, due to the layout of the apartment there was no fucking window in the bathroom. Knowing his general luck besides, even if there had been one, the odds of it being somehow connected to a fire escape would have been slim at best.

Simmons spent what felt like several more hours locked in the bathroom instead, cursing both himself and nonexistent windows while he tried to work up the nerve to face what he’d done.

Granted, it wasn’t the clearest of recollections. The Above Grounder had been pretty drunk at the time, though what he had just emptied into the toilet bowl was helping to clear his mind a bit.

The blurry images that came to mind were more than enough to make him want to vomit again if he still had anything left in his stomach. _Or_ they made him consider just freaking never coming out of said bathroom.

Simmons would simply have to fill out a permanent change of address form just to make the whole thing official.

_He had hugged Grif again._

Not only that, he was fairly certain he’d dragged the other man onto the couch. He had also actually _cried_ about his insecurities over his cybernetics, and then he’d…

Thinking about what had happened ( _almost happened_ ) following that nearly caused the cyborg to head for the toilet again.

What the hell had he been thinking?

It was bad enough that _Church_ of all people seemed to know about his feelings for Grif.  Oddly enough, thankfully, Church never really mocked him for them.  Though his teammate seemed to be of the mindset it was just something they should never talk about either, which kind of suited Simmons just fine.

The Above Grounder had never intended to ever say anything about them to _Grif_ , let alone _act_ on them.

Now? Now he had probably just fucking ruined _everything_.

It was enough to make him curl into an even tighter ball on the bathroom floor, hugging his knees to his chest and fighting back a sudden urge to cry. That crying feeling was actually one of the reasons he was in this damn mess to begin with, and thinking about it that way made the desire all the more intense for some reason.

If Simmons still had his heart in his chest, he could imagine this would be one of those moments when it would be beating loudly in his ears. His face, both the organic and inorganic portions of it, was insufferably hot too.

The Above Grounder did _not_ want to go back out there and face Grif’s reaction to what had happened, nor the joking reactions his little sister and her friend would no doubt have to it either.

He was used to outright rejection in a lot of areas of his life growing up. It was especially par the course with who he had for a father.  But, having to face it again in this instance was more painful and terrifying a thought than he could ever properly vocalize.

So, naturally, he didn’t even respond for the longest time when someone knocked on the door to his less-than-fragrant-or-hygienic sanctuary.

“Simmons?” Grif’s voice came through the locked barrier, sounding concerned no doubt on account of what Simmons had run in there to do earlier, “You okay?”

_No, definitely not okay._

A part of Simmons was touched by the fact that his friend was still somewhat worried about him despite everything, but his fear and embarrassment overshadowed that reaction completely. The reminder Grif’s voice gave him of what, and _who_ , the redhead would have to face when he went out there again kept him rooted to his spot on the bathroom floor.  His voice was completely out of commission.

Other voices whispered quite loudly on the other side of the door, no doubt debating on whether or not they should force it open from their side. Stealth experts, they were clearly not.

Given how he had been retching earlier, the redhead supposed he could understand the concern. They probably thought that his lack of response meant that maybe he had passed out and hit his head or something.

Eventually, Grif spoke up again after what sounded like a heated debate on the subject. Simmons only caught the tail end of the conversation that was not being muffled too much by the thick door, though it sounded like Kaikaina was responding with an obligatory _“You suck!”_ to whatever her brother had said to her.

“Simmons, you need some time to yourself?”

Grif was giving him the chance to respond, but still have space to go through his panic moment alone. Simmons was grateful, _really_ not wanting anyone to see him on the floor as he was just now.

That thought alone, along with practicing some of the surprisingly helpful breathing techniques Doc had taught him awhile back when he still had his lungs, eventually got him to the point where he could get out a shaky response at least.

Never mind that he didn’t have lungs anymore. Going through the deep breathing motions still seemed to have a similar calming effect even as a cyborg.

“Y—yeah.”

That was all Simmons could get out before he clammed up again. _Fucking awesome_.  He had to choke back a sob over how pathetic he was.

The voices stopped being quite as audible, which perhaps indicated that they were no longer hovering on the other side of the door in order to give him more space.

If the Above Grounder was more with it and of the right state of mind to do so, he could probably discern exactly _where_ they were now in the apartment thanks to his enhanced hearing.  But, that was hard to do even with clear focus on the best of days.

It took what felt like quite a long time after that before Simmons was finally able to get himself standing upright. Seriously.  Why did things always move so fucking slowly when you went through something mortifying, but speed by in a blur during better times?

Beyond a still very queasy feeling in his stomach that was, thankfully, not as bad now that he had emptied it of its contents, the Above Grounder also noted a slight spin to the world around him. Again though, not as bad as it had been when he had first ran into the bathroom.

He could also feel the starting signs of what was no doubt going to be a monumental headache later on. The slight pain he’d experienced at the club after taking Doctor Grey’s medicine to help dull his cybernetic sensitivity to the loud and bright goings-on apparently had come back with a vengeance once the alcohol hit him full force.  Because being a drunk idiot just wasn’t enough apparently.

Still, all things considered, the redhead was in better shape than he had expected to be in at the moment.

He suspected that would change whenever the hangover hit him stronger, if he was recalling Doc’s pamphlets and Doctor Grey’s “intoxication file” correctly.

None of that was really the cyborg’s largest concern though, as right now he was probably going to die of embarrassment anyways.

Naturally, Simmons spent a few more minutes once again cursing the architecture of the bathroom for its lack of windows before finally convincing his rubbery legs ( _odd sensation, given how both were comprised of varying degrees of metal and circuitry now_ ) and reluctant brain that he had to just get things over with.

Tempting as it was at the moment, there were probably all sorts of logical reasons why it wasn’t really all that feasible to permanently move into someone else’s bathroom.

Simmons sometimes hated logic when it went against him.

Drawing in an unnecessary and shaky breath, the Above Grounder hit the lock on the bathroom door and stepped into the open doorway.

The messy apartment that greeted him was far less crowded now than when he had run full speed in embarrassment and urgent need out of it. The two girls were even thankfully nowhere in sight.

Unfortunately for the redhead, though, the person he had _most_ been hoping to avoid on his way out had apparently been sitting in wait on that damn couch.  The cyborg had remembered it fondly up until tonight, but now looking at the piece of furniture somehow made his face even _warmer_.

As soon as he’d heard the door open, the tan Slums resident had stood up and was now facing the Above Grounder.

Simmons froze then, not sure what to do. A part of him was honestly tempted to just try going back into the bathroom and closing the door.  Another part was trying to calculate just how many seconds he would need in order to get to the apartment exit from where he was standing if he ran for it.

Grif wasn’t exactly the fastest mover, so he could probably get past him if he bolted for it provided his head didn’t spin any more than it was currently.

Perhaps Grif read what was going on in Simmons’ mind from his contorting facial expressions as he pondered things, because the Resistance fighter smiled slightly in what almost seemed like a placating gesture.

“Feeling better?”

The question itself and his friend’s demeanor threw Simmons completely off-guard.

He had expected the black-haired man to be either incredibly ticked off by what had happened, or extremely freaked out over it. The cyborg hadn’t honestly expected Grif to be concerned about him in the slightest given what had happened.

He blinked, before getting out another hesitant, “Y—yeah.”

“That’s good.” Grif grinned, “First time drinking that much, huh?”

“Er…” He could actually feel his blush deepen, and that sight seemed to be all the confirmation Grif needed.

“Yeah, that can happen when you aren’t used to drinking.” He said, voice still shockingly friendly and conversational in tone, “I don’t think I even made it to the bathroom my first time.”

Grif looked almost nostalgic then as he continued, “’Course, I was a shitload younger too.”

Not really wanting to remember anymore of that particular highlight of the evening, and deciding the sudden urge to lecture Grif on underage drinking he had was pointless now given their ages and would no doubt just lead to him getting teased and called a “nerd” again, Simmons glanced to the closed door of Kaikaina’s bedroom questioningly.

He really wasn’t sure if he could take anymore surprise appearances by Grif’s sister just yet without some prepping.

“Oh, Kai and her friend left already.” The other man seemed well-versed at reading Simmons’ body language currently, “Figured you would be more comfortable with coming out of there if there weren’t as many people here.”

The redhead swallowed, nodding appreciatively at the thought. Though for some reason that knowledge didn’t really calm his nerves as much as he would have hoped.

At least, he supposed, he wasn’t standing awkwardly in front of more people this way. Though doing so in front of _only Grif_ of all people wasn’t any easier.  If anything, it made the fact that Simmons would _have_ to say something about what had happened all the more apparent.

Which was going to be difficult, considering he couldn’t even fucking _move_ yet.  Let alone get his voice to work properly.

The Above Grounder hated how anxious he got, how much he was dreading this whole thing.

Grif seemed like he was surprisingly at a loss for what to say at the moment too. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, glancing at Simmons momentarily and looking away again quickly in the next second.  All the while, his mouth was constantly opening and then shutting promptly afterwards.

Seeing that made Simmons feel rather guilty. After all, he hadn’t meant for _Grif_ of all people to get awkward around him on account of his actions.

Oddly enough, that seemed to be just the push the cyborg needed to finally start speaking.

“S—sorry.” It was a mumbled apology, stated with a side-glance to the floor. But, at least it was _something_ , damn it.

Hearing the apology, Grif paused in his own awkwardness. He turned to look Simmons in the face finally, the action causing Simmons’ face to become even hotter.

“Hey. It’s okay, Simmons.” He said it quietly and even smiled again, almost as if Grif was afraid that saying anything too harshly or loud would cause the cyborg to bolt into the bathroom again, “Like I said, that happens to everyone.”

So, it seemed that the Resistance fighter thought Simmons was only referring to the whole bathroom episode.

The paler man frowned. He wasn’t sure if his elaborating on what he’d actually meant most of the apology towards was a good idea, but he felt like he _should_ all the same, “N—no.  I mean, yeah, I’m sorry about that too, but w—what I did—“

He was rambling and probably not making any sense whatsoever. Jumbled flashbacks of before came flooding back into the Above Grounder’s brain as he spoke, suddenly causing his voice to give out.

Simmons shut up completely then, finding himself suddenly staring at the floor. He was pretty shocked he hadn’t gotten overheated messages in his artificial eye, or any warning beeps about that from certain points of his body given how hot his face and the rest of him felt just then.

He desperately wanted to just disappear into the ground then and there.

“S—sorry.” Simmons ended up lamely finishing with.

There was a lengthy, uncomfortable silence following that. The redhead wondered if it was due to Grif inwardly debating his reaction at having been reminded about earlier.

Would the Slums resident yell? Throw Simmons out?  Say he never wanted to see him again, or that he’d be glad to shoot him next time they met?

Those last two thoughts in particular were enough to make Simmons want to vomit again, or possibly cry. Most likely a combination of both.

“Don’t worry about it.”

The quiet tone it was said in caused him to look at Grif in surprise.

Oddly enough, it was Grif who broke the eye contact seconds afterwards. Simmons could almost swear there was a darkening shade of color on the tan man’s rounder cheeks as he did so too.

“You were drunk, you know?” His friend said weakly, shrugging in his usual manner though it appeared more forced this time, “People do weird things they normally don’t when they’ve had a few.”

He smiled self-deprecatingly then, “Just ask me or Kai.”

Simmons’ eyes widened, taken aback by how nonchalant Grif was trying to act, “B—but—!”

Grif’s smile widened somewhat, the red on his cheeks still there as he made eye contact once more with the taller man, “You just happen to get touchy-feely with your friends when plastered. It’s no big deal.”

He took on a slightly serious look following that, “I won’t tell anyone, Simmons. I’ll make sure Kai and her friend don’t either, so don’t worry about it.”

So, somehow, his near confession and hug had been completely misinterpreted by Grif? Not for what it had actually been, but as him just becoming even more emotional than usual?

Simmons tried wrapping his head around it.

On one hand, it was great.

Grif was inadvertently giving him a way out of a situation that could have easily screwed up a relationship that meant more to him than he’d ever probably be able to openly admit unless, apparently, completely drunk out of his gourd.

On the other hand, though?

The cyborg realized Grif was still waiting for a response. He smiled weakly, embarrassment still obvious on his features, “Th—thanks, Grif.”

“Just tell me you managed to get most of it in the toilet and we’ll call it even.” Grif joked in response, “Vomit is fucking gross to clean up.”

“O—of course I did!” The redhead bristled, though he smiled a little more genuinely knowing this was the Resistance fighter’s way of trying to get him past the awkwardness they had just gone through, “Though you’re one to talk about cleaning anything up given how this place looks.”

“Hey, you don’t see any throw up anywhere, do you?” His friend sniffed in mock indignation, “Even I have standards, Simmons.”

“Glad to see you’ve set the bar so high.”

On the other hand, even as they thankfully seemed to fall back into their usual back-and-forth banter as if nothing had happened, Simmons couldn’t help but also feel rather disappointed.

*****

Simmons ended up leaving the apartment shortly after that, suddenly not quite sure that he felt up to spending the night there.

Too much embarrassment had happened. Plus, the thought of what he had almost inadvertently done still lingered in the air and in his mind, along with the odd sense of disappointment he’d felt over the fact that nothing had actually come from it.

Don’t get him wrong: Simmons was more than just a little relieved that he hadn’t royally fucked up his friendship with Grif. But, it was strange: the fact that the other man didn’t really seem to understand what had nearly happened was strangely upsetting to the Above Grounder too.

Even with his own fuzzy memory of what had transpired, Simmons thought it had been fairly obvious.

Lazy fuck as he could be, Grif had been reluctant to allow Simmons to walk out on his own after what had happened. It had taken quite a bit of convincing on the cyborg’s part that his recent purge had helped clear Simmons’ mind considerably, along with a questionable “sobriety test” of the Resistance fighter’s own design for him to finally agree to it.

Simmons was fairly certain that the whole sobriety test thing at least had just been a way for Grif to make fun of him. _The fat-ass_.

Even after all of that, Grif had still insisted on tagging along with him at least until the final transport that would take the redhead back to Level One since he _“might as well head back to base, I guess.”_

It may have been a while since the Above Grounder had been in the Slums proper, but Simmons still remembered enough about how the transport systems worked that Grif’s seemingly understandable concern for a less-than-sober friend was still rather annoying. They’d ridden the transport systems quite a lot when he had helped Grif with his errand business, after all.

The cyborg was only able to stew quietly for a few moments though before a teasing comment from Grif had him turning red all over again and quickly sputtering “ _Dumbass!_ ” in response.

Parting with a hurried “ _See you._ ” as Simmons rushed to get on the transport to Level One had felt tremendously strange given how most of their recent comings and goings had been.

True, the peace talks were still ongoing, so they would most likely see each other again. But, Simmons had found himself having to resist the urge to turn around and tell Grif he had changed his mind about heading back to the hotel.

It was probably more due to how he hadn’t really wanted tonight to end as it had, the cyborg supposed. Even thinking about it now still caused his face to become heated.

Truthfully, the last person in the world he had been expecting to see waiting for him in the docking area of the transport when he arrived at Level One, save maybe someone completely out there like his father or Captain Flowers somehow back from the dead, was one Kaikaina Grif.

He paused upon seeing her standing there, surprised at the sight of the young woman in her yellow armor once more with helmet tucked neatly under her arm.

“K—Kaikaina?” The Above Grounder sputtered, also remembering what she’d walked in on earlier and wondering if maybe making a run for it past her was a feasible option.

“Hey, shy guy!” She waved her free hand in the air upon seeing him, grinning, “Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

“What are you doing here?” He trudged over to her, frowning somewhat at her attire, “And in your armor?”

“Oh, the crazy old guy who is training us put all of the lieutenants on standby here.” She scrunched her nose up as if the idea was extremely distasteful, “It’s so boring though!”

“Shouldn’t you be on patrol then?” Simmons could almost imagine that the red-armored Sarge’s exasperation with the girl was possibly to a degree well-founded.

“Technically I have ten more minutes before my shift officially starts or something. I wasn’t really paying attention all that much after they said I could have a break.” She shrugged indifferently, “So, I wanted to wait for you.”

“Oh.” The redhead paused then, oddly touched by the gesture, “Thanks.”

Kaikaina regarded him closely, causing him to shift awkwardly where he was standing.

“This doesn’t really look like any walk of shame I’ve seen.” She finally announced, “Trust me, I’ve seen plenty!”

He spluttered at her comment, fairly certain his face was going to burst into flames right then and there.

“So, you and my brother haven’t done anything yet?” The younger Grif sounded oddly disappointed at having to ask the question at all.

“What? No, Kaikaina…we aren’t, I mean—“

While he was busy hyperventilating at her question, the Slums resident took his arm and led him over to a nearby bench. In a way, the action seemed like a bizarre reversal of what had happened when they first met all those years ago.

“You like him, right?” Kaikaina asked without preamble, sitting next to him.

He’d almost been tempted to deny it, but given how her expression seemed to say she already knew the answer he nodded mutely instead.

Kaikaina looked oddly thoughtful, “Well, maybe it’s a good thing that he didn’t really get what was going on.”

_That_ gave the Above Grounder pause, and his hands momentarily clamped down onto the bottom of the metal bench. He was fairly certain it would have handprints afterwards whenever he was finally able to work up the nerve to stop gripping it like a lifeline.

The three of them had actually _talked_ about it while he had been locked in the bathroom having his freak out?  He knew the odds had been good given what the two girls had walked in on, but hearing it said so blatantly was something quite different altogether.

The urge to bolt again was getting harder and harder to ignore the more this conversation continued.

The tan girl sitting next to him now though didn’t seem to really notice Simmons’ obvious discomfort, staring as she was at the area around them and nodding in that same pseudo-sage way that he was so used to Grif doing whenever the Resistance fighter was saying something ridiculous but was acting as though it was vastly profound.

“If you think about it, drunken displays of emotion can lead to a fun time but they’re hardly great ways to start a relationship.” She grinned then, “Believe me, I can tell you all about that too!”

The paler man nodded his head, desperate to just get her off this subject entirely, “Yeah, yeah…” Simmons muttered, then moments later the last part of what Kaikaina had just said sunk into his still slightly sluggish brain, “Wait, what?!?”

She winked conspiratorially, “Yeah some of those stories are _real_ fun.” She then stage-whispered, “Those are the kinds of nights where after it’s all over you have no idea where your underwear is or where _you_ are.”

“Um…”

Okay. Simmons was actually fairly certain his brain was going to explode at this rate.

Kaikaina continued on with the conversation as if what she had said was no big deal whatsoever. Given how she often described her evenings and what she liked doing in her free time, it was likely that was probably a pretty good assessment.

“But, see what I mean?” She asked him, “I never got any of those people’s names or anything afterwards.”

Well, the cyborg could actually sort of see the point she was trying to get at there. Just barely though, as it didn’t seem like it had too much to do with Grif and him beyond apparently her having been rather drunk.

Given their continued friendship despite everything, they were hardly strangers or acquaintances that nearly had a one night stand.

Simmons supposed it was nice that Kaikaina was trying to be comforting instead of teasing as he’d expected her to be, even if he still couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around what her true point was. Oddly touching in a way, if one thought about it.

“So, maybe having things go down that way would have been worse in the long run.” She concluded, looking over at Simmons with barely concealed amusement in her brown eyes, “Especially with the whole puking thing.”

The cyborg’s face heated up again in embarrassment at the reminder as to how that whole episode had ended, and he looked down at the ground. The slight cracks here and there in the material were rather fascinating from this angle.

But, he knew that Kaikaina was waiting for him to say something in response, and delaying it due to a sudden interest in abstract symbolism in everyday objects wasn’t probably going to do him any favors in the long run. Simmons sighed.

“It doesn’t really matter anyway.” He finally managed to mumble out, shoulders slumping slightly.

Because she had brought up the subject in the first place, not to mention that the whole conversation was bizarre to begin with, and he was still a little bit tipsy and needed to vent more than normal, he added: “I don’t think he’s interested. He didn’t even realize what had happened.”

Which, well, it must have been pretty obvious if _Kaikaina_ could tell and she’d only seen them for a few seconds, right?  Somehow, that realization was only serving to make him feel worse about everything now.

The black-haired girl frowned, looking up at the darkened rafters far above their heads.

Simmons continued looking at the ground, wondering what would be the politest way to just tell her that he should probably get back to the hotel and that it might be a good idea for Kaikaina to head to wherever she needed to be besides. It wouldn’t do for her to get in trouble at his expense, after all.

“You know about how Dex took care of me after our mom left?” She finally asked, eyes still glued to the rafters and cavern ceiling.

The redhead started, definitely having not expected that question at all in response to what they’d just been talking about. This conversation seemed to be going in all sorts of unexpected directions.

Kaikaina turned her head to regard him then, a knowing smirk forming across her face as she stated bluntly: “’Course you do. I remember him telling you about it when you were crashing on our couch that one time.  You guys didn’t know I was eavesdropping.”

“Er…” Simmons didn’t know what to say, his brain thinking back now on the myriad possible ways he probably mortified his teenage self since he hadn’t realized the outspoken fourteen-year-old girl he’d met back then had apparently been something of a ninja.

She didn’t miss a step though as she continued, “Anyways, I don’t remember too much about the really early time following that.”

The young woman frowned slightly, an uncharacteristically haunted look crossing over her features just then, “Only that I was sad and scared, and I probably cried a lot.”

“Kaikaina…” The Above Grounder began, trying to think of something to say and failing miserably.

How did one respond to hearing something like that? After all, he remembered for a time being at a loss for words when Grif had spoken about it too.

“But, Dex was really brave!” The tan girl smiled again at that particular recollection, “He was sad and scared too. I remember him being angrier then too, but he always tried to make me laugh and not be so scared.  He did a lot of things just to make sure I was okay.”

“He’s a good brother.” Simmons was finally able to get something out, at least.

She nodded, “A part of me…” Kaikaina paused and frowned slightly, looking ashamed, “Always felt guilty about that though.”

 Simmons frowned, once again not sure of what to say in light of that kind of personal revelation.  The serious and sad expression on Kaikaina’s face was rather strange to see too, given the insane amount of confidence the younger woman usually carried herself with.

“Grif had to do and worry about a lot of things, just to take care of me. Things kids shouldn’t have to deal with.” She stated finally after seeming to collect her thoughts on what she wanted to say next, “I was always a handful too.”

She looked regretful, and her body sagged in a defeated fashion, “He even joined the fucking army because of me!”

“Th—that’s why you joined later too, right?” The redhead asked quietly, “To somehow make it up to him?”

A nod, and Kaikaina almost looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any second. Which really wasn’t helping Simmons hold back the sudden wet blurriness forming in his human eye any.

“He’s my dumbass big brother. I don’t want him getting hurt.”

It was a touching sentiment to be sure, delivered in true Kaikaina Grif fashion. Though Simmons still wasn’t sure exactly how they’d gotten onto this subject in the first place.

The Above Grounder sat there awkwardly, never sure about the correct protocol for situations like this. It didn’t help that he was also suddenly remembering how he had been unsure of what to do after Kaikaina had gotten injured by those assholes who had followed him down here to “slum,” back when he’d first met her years ago.

The younger Grif seemed to shake herself out of it seconds later, regarding Simmons with an odd look following that, “I think that’s part of the problem now, with you two.”

“C—come again?” The Above Grounder hated how that came out as a squeak, caught off-guard as he was by her cutting to the chase just like that.

Kaikaina sighed, “Dex was so focused on trying to take care of me when we were growing up. I think it kind of made him oblivious to a lot of things.”

When Simmons didn’t respond and just stared at her with a blank look, she elaborated, “Sure, he likes being lazy and eating, and both him and Tucker talk about porn a lot.”

Kaikaina ignored how quickly that last remark made his face turn tomato red, “But, he doesn’t seem that interested in emotional stuff at all.” She frowned again, “I’m not sure he’s ever thought of _liking_ someone before, or of them liking him outside of the friend zone.”

While Simmons was trying to think of some way to respond intelligibly, she blurted out, “So, I don’t think it’s a case of him not being interested. It’s more like he’s so dense he can’t tell.”

“I—I’m not sure—” Simmons began, shaking his head.

Kaikaina cut him off before he could continue: “You don’t see all the blushing he does when we make fun of him for it. I don’t even think he knows he does it.”

The cyborg sighed, realizing that there was no way he could ever probably convince the girl that she was wrong on this subject and figured it was best to change tact then, “W—why are you telling me this?”

“I think you’re probably the only person he could ever figure that out with.” She looked to the rafters again, a thoughtful look on her face, “Even when the two of you first met, there was… _something_.  It’s why I tease him about it so much.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know, he’s never had that kind of immediate connection with anyone else before. With Tucker, it took months for them to even tolerate each other when we became neighbors.  He’s never connected with girls that way either.”  She made a face, tapping her foot impatiently.

“I just think it’s going to be one of those annoying things where it takes time or some shit because he isn’t used to it at all.” Kaikaina concluded, turning towards Simmons again and grabbing his hands tightly just when he’d finally gotten them to let go of the bench too, “So, don’t get discouraged, gray guy! You’ve waited this long already!”

It was both touching and horribly embarrassing to be talking about this with Grif’s little sister, especially when she used her odd nickname for him. It always took him a second to remember that she was colorblind.

Simmons gulped nervously, “Wh—why are you so eager to help, Kaikaina?” He was proud of himself that he was actually able to vocalize anything so quickly after she’d finished her statement, “It’s _better_ if I don’t say anything, even if that is true.”

Which he personally doubted that it was due to his own self-confidence issues more than anything else, and he suspected the girl probably just was wishful thinking and misinterpreting things as a result, “Given the situation between here and Above Ground, and—“

She scoffed at him, looking unconcerned, “You never know what will happen later.” She said, taking on that “wise guru” approach once more, “Best to live in the moment and all that other crap.”

Simmons frowned, knowing what she was saying to be over-simplification at its finest.

“Besides, I love my brother and I want the fat idiot to be happy.” The younger girl smiled, “I like you too, regardless of where you’re from!”

“Kaikaina…” Shit, he really was probably going to cry any second now. The cyborg did his best to cover up a sniffle in response to the surprising sentiment.

“Plus, when you guys finally get together, Tucker said he’d help me throw a kickass party to celebrate!” Kai informed him happily, “I’ve picked the booze and strippers already!”

Leave it to Grif’s little sister to kill the moment just like that. But, as he spluttered in embarrassment over her last remark and the idea that Grif’s friend Tucker also apparently thought of his feelings as being _that_ obvious despite the two of them having not interacted as much as Simmons and Kaikaina had, there was a knowing look in her dark eyes.

Simmons began to suspect that she had actually said that on purpose for his sake in order to keep him from blubbering then and there.

“Thanks.” The cyborg told her, feeling more hopeful now than he had before.

“No problem. I meant it too!” She grinned widely, though a grimace crossed over her face seconds later, “Oh, shit!  It’s way past ten minutes, huh?”

“Quite a bit past, actually.” Simmons knew he should probably be heading back to the hotel himself as well now that he was on Level One instead of monkeying about.

“Fuck, guess I’ll see you around then!” The younger Grif bolted up then, “All three of us should totally hang out next time you’re free, like old times!”

He nodded quietly in response, not really wanting to say it would all depend on what happened in the future and whether or not the Grif siblings would have free time too. The prospect sounded like an enjoyable one, and he was actually rather glad that the girl and her brother even seemed to want to spend time with him still given how long it had been since they’d first met and everything.

Kaikaina put her helmet on, giving him one final wave goodbye before bounding from the docking area in a yellow blur.

He didn’t feel quite like getting up _just_ yet despite his earlier thoughts to the contrary, largely due to the fact that the world was back to spinning a little bit.  He had a feeling that any sudden movements on his end would probably only make that worse.  Best to just wait a few more minutes until it subsided as he really didn’t want to get sick in a public place, after all—even if there weren’t as many people around at this time to witness it, that would still be horribly embarrassing.

Besides, it gave him some time to process what had just occurred. Something that his brain desperately wanted to do.

Simmons had no idea if what Kaikaina had said was remotely true. He certainly had his doubts, and the massive lack of self-esteem he had in that department in particular wasn’t exactly helping anything.

But, in a way, the conversation had helped him perhaps understand a bit more about his friend than he had before. It also gave the Above Grounder a bit more perspective when it came to Grif’s mindset on things of that nature, at least.  What Kaikaina said certainly made a plausible kind of sense, given their pasts and how quickly Grif had to grow up in most areas of his life as a result.

He didn’t think there was any real chance of Grif actually reciprocating anything. Too many obstacles to that really, and Simmons doubted he’d ever even say anything to him again about it since the only reason he’d really done it this time was due to having drunk so much.  But, the conversation with Kaikaina had certainly helped to improve his mood a bit.

And who knew? Perhaps the situation between the Slums and Above Ground would improve soon and he could, at the very least, see his friends more and on less nerve-wracking terms overall.

That was all Simmons could really hope for at this point.

*****

There were a lot of things Dexter Grif wished had gone differently that night.

For starters, he would have definitely drunken more from the get-go. He’d barely had a buzz by the time they had left the party, and being one of the only people in a group _not_ plastered out of your mind wasn’t exactly the greatest.

Though the “being with it” enough later on to remember how much you could mock your friends was a future perk. He had a feeling he would be having a fun “payback” blast of it with Tucker in particular later, given all of the teasing and jokes his friend tended to have at his expense.

Not to mention that there were probably all sorts of things he would have changed in regards to the entire Simmons situation that night.

The casual joking about that “one time” when the Above Grounder was clearly all sorts of wasted and flustered being the biggest one, followed probably by changing the lock on the apartment door because his little sister _never_ was one to believe in knocking first.

It was bad enough that the poor guy had been _that_ upset still over having potentially hurt a friend in the past during what had been just a really fucked up situation in general, but getting interrupted during an emotional freak-out and getting teased for it even before having to rush into the bathroom?

It was almost enough to have even Grif feeling more sympathetic-than-mocking later.

Although thinking back on it, Grif’s own embarrassment over what had happened and the odd sense of confusion over his own reaction, as well as his frustration at Kai being more than just his usual annoyance at her barging in and joking tendencies for reasons he really wasn’t quite sure of himself?

Well, maybe those were signs that he _was_ drunker than he originally thought or something.

He was almost tempted to go through one of Donut’s pamphlets just to see what the signs were, but that would mean actively searching for one that he hadn’t already crumpled into a ball and threw at someone’s head just to see what would happen.

Which, really, was way more effort than he cared to exert when it came to learning something.

In all honesty, it had actually been harder than normal to try to play the whole thing off with Simmons as “no big deal” to his smirking little sister and her curious-but-not-sure-she-wanted-to-be-there-any-longer friend.

So, Grif tried doing what he hoped was the best thing for that situation. It was hard to say if it really was or not, he’d never really _had_ to deal with anything like this before, thankfully.

When he had dealt with Tucker or Kai drunk, they usually tended to fall into the either amusingly or annoyingly “Loud Drunk” category depending on his own personal mood at the time.

The Slums resident tried checking to make sure that Simmons was okay, because, seriously it had not sounded fun or pleasant from outside the bathroom. Besides, given Simmons’ tendency towards panic the odds of him hyperventilating and passing out on the bathroom floor or in the toilet were actually fairly high.

Grif had almost, _almost_ been tempted to override the lock when he hadn’t gotten an initial response from the redhead.  Waiting for one had been quite stressful, actually.

The two lieutenants were of the mind that it might be necessary, with Volleyball muttering how it was a shame that Jensen wasn’t there because she could disable the lock in no time flat. But, he’d held back just because he knew doing so if Simmons was in the process of collecting himself would just make things worse in the long run.

He was more than just a little relieved when Simmons had finally responded to his questioning.

Following that, the second order of business was hurrying his sister and Volleyball out of the apartment as soon as he could.

Whenever Simmons finally came out of the bathroom, he suspected seeing the two of them would probably cause him to run right back in there and the whole process would start all over again. Unless the Above Grounder just moved into the bathroom permanently.  Which, let’s face it, Grif suspected his maroon-wearing friend was probably very much so unrealistically debating in his head right about now.

Volleyball was more than ready to leave, looking rather apologetic now for the interruption. Though _what_ she thought they had interrupted she didn’t say, and Grif wasn’t sure he wanted to know given how she would often glance at him with slightly red-tinged cheeks before awkwardly coughing and glancing away.

The mumbling about the bet the two of them had been having with Jensen certainly didn’t help assuage his fears about what she was thinking either.

Kai took a bit more convincing, going into her room to collect whatever it was she had needed with her customary _“Fine, I’m going! You suck!”_ routine.

He never did figure out what she had come to the apartment for, actually. She had it in a bag and stated _“None of your business!”_ when he asked while sticking her tongue out at him.

As long as it wasn’t her vibrator that she was planning to use for some kind of prank again, he supposed it was fine.

Then they argued over the crummy lock for a few minutes ( _“I had it fixed, Dex! You probably just broke it!”_ ).  Then Kai got in one last pseudo teasing remark about how he and Simmons should treat each other nice after all of this before winking and waving at his flustered reaction and upraised finger before the apartment door finally closed behind her.

While he knew she had been joking and her commentary was more about the whole “married” thing she and Tucker always teased him with, Grif did debate a lot more than he cared to admit about how to react to the situation. Especially given how Simmons might view what had happened.

So, he ultimately decided it was probably for the best to play it up as if nothing had really happened for both of their sakes.

Simmons had been drunk and stressed. The cyborg probably didn’t even realize what he had done, or even meant it in any way at all for what it could be misinterpreted as.  Reminding the redhead too much about it could possibly just upset him all over again and Grif really didn’t want to do that.

As for Grif’s reactions to what had happened? Well, it was probably best not to think too much on it.  Bad time for his back to fucking tingle at where Simmons’ hand had been under his shirt. _Fucking brain_.

Given that Simmons hadn’t meant it and there was more than enough hurdles to their continuing friendship already, the Resistance fighter didn’t want to say or do anything to make things worse.

Better that way in the long run. Everything else was just a reaction to too much drink and a rather emotional outburst from a friend.

The tan man ignored the fact that a part of him seemed rather disappointed by his own decision.

But, that had pretty much been the end of it. Grif had played it off like the whole thing had been nothing.  Simmons had either believed him, or chose to go along with the act as a way to lessen his obvious embarrassment.

Given what had happened, though, the Slums resident supposed it wasn’t too shocking that in the end Simmons had wanted to go back to Level One.

The redhead seemed extremely dejected and nervous over the whole thing, so he probably just wanted to be as far away from where everything went down. Understandable, really.

Though Grif was a little upset over the decision in a way given that they didn’t really know when the next time they could see each other again like this would be. Yeah, it hadn’t exactly been the greatest night by the end, but they had been able to hang out in a more peaceful setting.

_That had to have counted for something, right?_

To his credit, Simmons was sober enough after having emptied the contents of his stomach that the cyborg seemed in reasonably decent shape enough to probably get back to Level One on his own. In fact, his friend was quite annoyed by any argument otherwise.

He went into his famously stubborn mode when Grif had suggested coming with him, no doubt wanting to get away from Grif simply due to what had occurred in the apartment. The chubbier man was probably a reminder of all of that embarrassment and puking the redhead had just gone through.

The Resistance fighter was only able to get Simmons to agree to let him go with the cyborg up until the transport that took people to Level One, and that was more due to a slight fib on Grif’s part that doing so was the easiest way to get back to the Resistance base.

It wasn’t, not really. It was far easier to get to the tunnels where the Resistance base was now located from the mid-levels of the Slums, but, well, he figured Simmons didn’t need to know that.

Plus, thinking that Grif was going on the transports for another reason beyond babysitting him lessened Simmons’ _“I can take care of myself!”_ argument.  In so doing, it helped to lessen some of Grif’s concern over letting his still somewhat drunk friend-from-really-out-of-town head back on his own if the tan man could go most of the way with him.

The “sobriety test” he made Simmons do still was all sorts of hilarious though. Of course, Simmons saw through the “Do The Robot” part when Grif couldn’t help snickering, and then he just _had_ to ask what the actual scientific merit was of said test.  Which in turn had Grif outright laughing and Simmons turning red in the face, muttering an angry expletive under his breath.

It was really fun messing with the nerd sometimes. Grif was definitely going to miss that after he left.

So, at least they had fallen back into their usual routine more or less before calling it a night, which was something to be grateful for given how potentially awkward it could have been instead.

There was still a bit of that awkwardness lingering too, but it was so below the surface that Grif could almost ignore it completely. He put on a good show of doing so for his friend’s sake.

They had parted ways at the transport to Level One and, yeah, Grif couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at the sight of Simmons trying to run to catch it because funny is funny! It helped alleviate the weird sense of sadness he got at saying goodbye this time despite knowing they’d probably see one another again soon due to the fake peace talks.

Afterwards, Grif ended up making his way inexplicably back towards the tunnels and the Resistance base. More than likely simply because he didn’t really have any need or desire to go back to his apartment given everything.  Besides, there was bound to be some kind of food left in the mess hall.

Not to mention, doing so also meant he hadn’t been completely lying to Simmons either. Even if getting there from the higher Slums levels was a bit more work than the Resistance fighter usually liked to do.

Grif had not expected that the first person he would run into when he got back to base would be a rather disconcerted-looking C.T. with Tucker’s kid in tow.

The former Freelancer walked over to him, a frown on her face as she took in his appearance. He was dressed in his civilian clothes still, while she was fully decked out in her armor save her helmet, “I take it you haven’t heard the news yet?”

The way she asked the question and her expression in general caused the Slums resident’s stomach to drop, “Something happened?”

Of course it did. Couldn’t even go a fucking night before things got worse.

“Looks that way.” C.T. motioned with her head down an all-too familiar tunnel, “Kimball’s calling a meeting.”

On second thought, it was probably a good thing he wasn’t too buzzed just then. Though the Resistance fighter might change his mind on that depending on what exactly was going on.

“Any sign of Tucker and the others yet?” Grif asked, though he knew the answer to the Tucker part of that question was pretty obvious given how the brunette was still babysitting Junior.

“Donut, Lopez, and Caboose arrived just a little while ago.” She glanced down at Junior and the child gripped her gloved hand tightly. He was a smart kid and he understood human language perfectly despite not being able to speak it.

No doubt he knew well enough something was up and it was making him rather nervous as the former Freelancer went on, “As for Tucker—“

“Dude, you guys better not be saying anything bad about me in front of my kid!”

“Blargh!”

Junior perked up at the sound of his father’s voice. When he appeared around the curve of the corridor they were in, the miniature alien pulled away from C.T. to run over to him.

Unlike Grif, it looked as though Tucker had retrieved his armor before heading further inside the base. He was back in his familiar teal coloring, matched by his son’s armor as well.

“Hey, kiddo! You’re looking well.” His friend beamed down at Junior, picking him up when the boy reached him.

“Blargh!” Junior shouted in affirmation, seeming rather happy to see Tucker again.

Tucker turned to glance at C.T., nodding slightly, “Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

She gave a return nod, “You’re welcome, though I had some help too.”

“Oh?” The dark skinned man raised an eyebrow curiously at that.

“Jensen, Smith, and Sarge might charge you babysitting fees later.” The brunette joked, a smile briefly crossing over her face.

Smith and Jensen, he could understand. But, _Sarge_?  There was no way hearing his name in a sentence reference “babysitting” wasn’t strange as all fuck.

Grif wondered if this was a case of someone needing to be there to actually believe it and, even then, you’d probably have to do some double-takes and wonder what the hell you were smoking beforehand. Judging by the bewildered expression crossing over Tucker’s face, he assumed his friend was thinking along similar lines too.

“The weirdest shit happens when I’m not here, huh?” Tucker joked in an aside to his son, the child nodding his head with what appeared to be the alien equivalent of a grin across his face.

“You look better than I thought you would, given how you left.” Grif remarked jokingly to Tucker.

He meant it too. Grif had expected by this point for the teal-armored man to be well worse for wear given how much he’d had to drink at the Randy Offering.  Beyond a slight grimace when not directly focused on Junior, to whom he managed to put on a pretty good show of appearing fine and being all smiles so as to not worry him, Tucker wasn’t nearly as incapacitated as Grif was expecting him to be.

“Huh?” For some odd reason, he could have sworn a blush darkened Tucker’s cheeks at Grif’s remark momentarily before he bounced back, “Oh! That crazy doctor chick who was at the party?”

Tucker waited until his friend nodded that he remembered who he was talking about. But, seriously, how could someone forget that Above Ground doctor?  She’d scared pretty much everyone at the bar at one point even while wearing a disconcertingly pleasant smile, “Well, she gave me something she said was pretty good for hangovers.  It actually worked better than I thought it would.”

“So, you were going to go right back to duty then?” Tucker’s female teammate sounded rather impressed.

Tucker made a “ _Pshaw!_ ” sound, “Nah, I was just planning on coming back here to see how Junior was doing and take him off your hands.” He frowned then, “But someone said I should head back and be prepared for some shit.  That things had changed.”

“That Washington guy you left with?” Grif asked, frowning as well.

How would he have known what was apparently going on down here in the first place when the other Above Grounders they’d interacted with had seemed genuinely clueless? And why would he warn Tucker about it besides?

Grif noticed C.T. stiffen slightly at the name, her brown eyes looking questioningly over to Tucker. The Slums resident supposed it made sense that the newest member of Blue Team would know of Washington though given that he was a Freelancer and everything.

The two exchanged an odd, secretive “Blue Team Only” sort of look, but neither of them apparently saw the point in filling the outsider in on what it was all about. Which meant he would have to badger Tucker later about it if he decided it was really something worth knowing.  Honestly, that really did kind of just depend on Grif’s general care level at any given moment.

“Yeah, that guy.” Was all Tucker felt like saying in response to Grif’s question, though from the frown deepening on his face it seemed as if perhaps he was wondering something similar to what Grif had been thinking himself.

“Blargh?” Junior tilted his head slightly to the side in his father’s arms, watching the exchange with a curious gaze.

Instead of furthering his response, Tucker smirked at Grif, “What about you, huh, fat-ass?” He joked instead, “Finally get somewhere on the conjugal visit?”

Of course, the teasing remark caused all of the memories from earlier that night to come flooding back to Grif and his face immediately become a whole lot warmer than it had been before.

He was about to go tell Tucker to fuck off when C.T. cleared her throat. She had apparently decided it was time to let the seriousness of whatever was going on outweigh the amusement she was clearly also getting from the friends’ exchange, if the twinkle that had momentarily sparked in her eyes just before she schooled her expression into a more urgent one was any indication.

“You two can catch up later. Grif, you need to get changed into your armor.” The former Freelancer reminded him, “The meeting is going to happen any minute now.”

*****

It was easy enough to figure out where to stand in the meeting hall once they finally got there, largely because Donut had spotted them and was flailing his arms wildly over his head while shouting at the top of his lungs: “Hey, guys! Hey!  Over here!  Hey!”

Standing next to him was the always rather disinterested-looking Lopez, and the not-really-seeming-like-he-knew-what-was-going-on Caboose.   Standing closer to the wall, Grif could see the three other former Freelancers as well.

They were deep in conversation with one another, all with alert and stiff body language. So, yeah, that was definitely a pretty clear sign that something big was going down if ever there was one.

Grif tried ignoring his exuberant teammate and was tempted to go stand anywhere else _but_ there, largely because Sarge happened to be standing close by as well.  However, given the threatening gestures his commanding officer was giving them to hurry up, no doubt so that the two teams would be complete to avoid communication confusion later on down the line, it was probably better to be safe than sorry.

“Hey, guys!” Donut repeated again in a normal decibel once his teammate and the two Blue Team members along with Junior approached. As usual, his tone was far too perky for the heavy atmosphere that seemed to be permeating the space, “How’s it going?”

“Donut, you saw both of us only a few hours ago.” Grif reminded him with a sigh.

“Well, a lot can happen in a few hours.” His pink-armored teammate winked conspiratorially, and Grif couldn’t help but groan at the implication he knew was behind that comment.

“Sergeant Pastry and my purple friend got very close when you left.” Caboose chimed in happily, “Just like me and Church!”

Tucker glanced over at the marks only just visible on the exposed part of Donut’s neck, raising a black eyebrow, “I don’t know, Caboose. It seems like they may have gotten close in a different way.”

Donut actually reddened slightly, causing Grif to raise an eyebrow as well. A smirk crossed over his features once he realized what Tucker was implying, and how it seemed like a rather accurate assessment of what had probably gone on between Doc and Donut after they had both left the bar.

Both men knew better than to really try teasing Donut over it though. His playful “slaps” that followed his _“Knock it off, you guys!”_ remarks actually hurt a lot more than one might expect.

“Yes, well, Doc is a really nice guy!” Donut stated, smiling now along with his still present blush, “Everyone there was.”

“Sheila y yo lo pasamos muy bien. Es más divertido que molesto viendo ustedes ser imbéciles cuando se tiene compañía.” _{“Sheila and I had fun. It's more amusing than annoying watching you guys be morons when you have company.”}_

Donut turned his head slightly to nod in the direction of the electronic voice, “Lopez says the ambiance was great too.”

“Usted acabas de demostrar mi punto.” _{“You just proved my point.”}_

“I want to hang out with Church again soon! And Agent Washingtub.” Caboose frowned, looking at his teammate pointedly, “Tucker monographed him.”

“I think you mean _monopolized_ , Caboose.” Donut pointed out politely.

“Not unless I get to be the thimble.”

Sarge mumbled under his breath something along the lines of “ _fraternizing with the enemy_ ,” but it was lost on Grif as he scanned the meeting area for signs of his sister and the other new recruits.

Usually Matthews would already be here sucking up by asking if they needed anything, and he knew that if Kai was around she would have been trying to use this opportunity to blab about what she had seen.

He needed to try to come up with a way to get her not to do that, since he’d promised Simmons he would. He figured Volleyball probably wouldn’t if he simply asked her not to, but Kai would be trickier to convince.

“Where are the lieutenants?” He finally asked, not paying attention to the conversations that had been forming around him while he’d been looking around the meeting hall.

“Oh, yeah. This meeting is for everyone, right?” Donut picked up on his teammate’s train of thought, scanning the room himself, “But, I haven’t seen any of them yet.”

Sarge frowned, though he almost seemed impressed momentarily that Grif had apparently been observant enough to notice anything about the other people gathering there, “I sent them out on a mission already.”

“Oh? Without telling anyone else first?”

With that curious, almost chiding-sounding remark, Felix appeared before the group. How he could just show up in front of people like that without them noticing was rather mind-boggling.

It seemed as if Felix had apparently overheard Sarge’s comment and decided he should take the opportunity to comment on it while they waited.

“I talked it over with Kimball. We both decided they would be more suited elsewhere right now.” Sarge said, bristling defensively at the perceived criticism of his tactical decision, “Didn’t really see the need to blast it out over the airwaves.”

“Probably should work on those trust issues at some point, Sarge.” The mercenary joked, amusement causing the corners of his mouth to twist upwards slightly.

“Trust has to be earned.” The older man’s eyes narrowed, “Especially if the person in question wears orange.”

Felix cast his amused look over to Grif, who let out a sigh in exasperation. Leave it to the crazy old guy to manage to insult him in the process too, even when Sarge wasn’t apparently actively angry at him.  He could not win there.

“I just hope they aren’t where any of the main action is going to take place.” The steel and orange-armored freelancer said in an almost conversational tone, though there was a serious glint in his dark eyes that showed he wasn’t taking whatever was going on nearly as lightly as he was appearing to, “Would hate for something bad to happen to them.”

Grif almost felt like he had to say something about how Kaikaina always had good survival skills, and that the others weren’t too bad when it came to combat now. However, Felix turned to Tucker before Sarge, Grif, or one of the others could indignantly respond to his comment.  The mercenary looked down at Tucker’s arm, his hand still gripping Junior’s tightly.

“You should probably have your kid hang back for this too, Tucker.” He advised him, not really glancing in Junior’s direction at all as he spoke.

Tucker snorted, “Don’t have to tell me that, Felix.” He said tersely, momentarily squeezing Junior’s hand in response to Felix’s remark, “I’m not that much of an idiot.”

“That, I’m not so sure of.” The mercenary titled his head slightly, looking over the collected group appraisingly, “But, it’s good that you guys seem to be taking this more seriously now. It’s big.”

“No shit.” Sarge harrumphed while shrugging, “Might want to tell us something we don’t know next time.”

He smirked, “Oh, I think I’d have to narrow down the list first.”

With that, Felix wandered off to stand close by where Tex, York, and North were still talking. In an almost bored manner, he took out his combat knife and started throwing it in the air and catching it again.  But, there was a terseness in his body language that conflicted with that nonchalant air he was trying to project all the same.

“Locus is apparently involved in this whole thing.” C.T. said in way of explanation, and there were some nods of understanding amongst the group then.

After all, Felix always did get into strange moods when it came to his former mercenary partner. Given the serious nature of what was happening, and knowing Locus was involved on top of that?  Well, Grif supposed it made sense that he would be on edge.

When Sarge seemed certain that Felix wasn’t going to be drifting back over to them anytime soon, he turned to Grif, “We have them monitoring Level One since odds are good the Council’s going to split without too much fuss whenever this whole thing goes down.”

It made sense, he supposed. The newer recruits had improved considerably since they had first joined, but they were still considered to be more-or-less in training.  Giving them an assignment that was necessary from a cautionary stance, but not as likely to involve fierce combat situations was a rather good strategy.

Odd though that Sarge even bothered explaining it to _him_ of all people when he had refused to do so with Felix.  True, Sarge hadn’t liked the guy ever since he had been hired on for the Resistance and became something of a friend to Kimball, but it wasn’t like Felix hadn’t proved that he was trustworthy by this point.

So, while the tan Resistance fighter was a bit relieved to know what his sister was up to and that she and the other lieutenants weren’t going to be in too much danger most likely, he had to ask: “You’re telling me this because?”

“I figured you should know on account of your sister, at least.” Sarge shrugged, “Besides, while you’re a lazy good-for-nothing-who-wears-orange, that’s at least one up over a certain good-for-nothing-who-asks-for-money-instead-of-just-fighting-for-the-hell-of-it-who-also-wears-orange.”

It was probably the closest thing Sarge would ever get to being remotely nice or complimenting him. Yeah, Grif was going to try ignoring how horribly sad that was.

The orange-armored soldier thought it deserved a proper, only slightly sarcastic response, “Oh, wow. Thanks, Sarge.”

“Don’t get too cocky there, dirtbag.” The red-armored soldier stated bluntly, “My contingency plan is still ‘Shoot Grif’ first.”

Well, that moment certainly lasted longer than he expected.

Grif rolled his eyes, “Inspirational as always.”

“You’re just lucky I keep to a plan once I create one, numb nuts.” He grinned, “Though depending on what counts as an emergency, contingencies are always up for interpretation. I’d keep that in mind if I were you.”

Thankfully, just as Sarge was about ready to burst into maniacal laughter again while cradling his shotgun, Kimball showed up to the meeting. A very grim look settled on her features as she surveyed everyone present.

“Let’s get right to this, then.” She announced without preamble, her voice carrying, “Some of you already know this, but there is a situation in the tunnels that is top priority from here on out.” Her eyes settled on the tan armor of a certain former Freelancer, “York, you’re up. Then we’ll talk about the battle plan.”

Judging by her demeanor and York’s own as he stepped up to quickly recount to everyone just what he’d seen, Grif became even more grateful for Sarge and Kimball’s decision to take Kaikaina and the other younger soldiers out of the immediate threat’s path.

In the back of his mind, he was aware of a sudden realization forming that he was probably going to regret not spending more time with Simmons when he had the chance. Grif had a sneaking suspicion that whatever happened from here on out, the “peace talks” were over.

This new turn of events was certainly going to be even less fun than playing fake niceties ever was. It was kind of disappointing that they weren’t going to be given the option to sit this one out either.

But, well, that figured.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** This chapter serves as the somewhat necessary “aftermath” of what happened in the last chapter before moving on to the action, so there’s more character reflections and interactions here than anything else.
> 
> Yes, Grif and Simmons are extremely oblivious when it comes to one thing in particular. XD For some reason I always seem to be unintentionally mean to Simmons whenever I write for him, the poor guy! 0_0; It will get better eventually for you, Simmons, I swears! :)
> 
> Really loved the Season 12 Finale, by the way! It was quite awesome. :D
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you will enjoy the next chapter when things start moving forward again in the main plot!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Seventeen:

As far as plans went, Lavernius Tucker supposed there were worse ways they could have gone.

Granted, he wasn’t a brilliant tactician. He could come up with some fucking _awesome_ improvisations on the fly, but that really wasn’t anywhere close to the same thing. However, if Tucker had been tasked with making a strategy, he probably would have come up with something similar to what the Resistance was currently doing.

That is, if Tucker had been extremely unlucky and forced to come up with a plan to approach this messed up situation all on his own.

Largely the whole thing pretty much all boiled down to the element of surprise in the end. Locus and the mercenaries working with him, along with that Freelancer dick Wyoming, did not yet know that they had been found out.  So, they were therefore most likely still focusing most of their energies on the retrieval of the artifact.

Tucker supposed that made sense given that the artifact was ultimately as valuable as it was now largely due to its still relatively intact condition. Undermining that in any way would no doubt put a considerable dent in the mercenaries’ pay.

Also, there was always the possibility of the thing accidentally getting turned on. He suspected it was doubtful given the inactive state all of those ancient types of alien artifacts tended to be in initially, but it was probably a scenario the mercenaries were still a tad wary of all the same.

Having the damn thing suddenly turn “on” because of careless jostling without any warning could potentially result in a whole shitload of extra crispy assholes, so focusing on a safe and careful retrieval was no doubt their top priority.

Granted, in Tucker’s book, that second scenario would be _great_ if it happened and only ended up somehow miraculously affecting those jerks.  But, the odds of it not then somehow vaporizing everyone else who happened to be in the tunnels, and potentially the Slums themselves, wasn’t too great.

So, the ultimate idea behind the Resistance’s strategy was to try to catch the Above Grounders completely off-guard _before_ they figured out how to best move the Giant Sphere of Doom.

_“They no doubt already suspect that we have been sending small scouting patrols out into the tunnels searching for suspicious activity since the peace talks began.” Kimball explained at the meeting, a holographic blueprint of Tunnel 32-A’s schematics projected on the wall behind her, “We can use that to our advantage.”_

_She went on to further outline the details of the plan, which was to have one of these “scouting parties” stumble upon the group of mercenaries while they were working on safely removing the artifact._

_During the disturbance that that would ultimately provide, the main forces of the Resistance would move into play to block and seal off any potential exit routes before moving forward to support the front-line fighters._

_Naturally, it was expected that the scouting party would be comprised of any Resistance soldiers most likely to survive a prolonged exchange with a group of bloodthirsty mercenaries._

_So it really wasn’t a fucking surprise then that_ Tex _was selected as one member of the group._

_“Maybe I should go too.” Felix spoke up following the announcement, a thoughtful expression crossing over his face as he stared at the map, “It sounds like there’s potentially going to be some prime alien tech for the taking from all of this. Besides, I owe Locus an ass-kicking and then some.”_

_The hard edge that seeped into his voice at the mention of his former partner was not lost on those present at the meeting._

_Sarge harrumphed loudly in response to the man’s remark, a grimace of distaste crossing over his weathered features, “How much would we have to pay you for_ that _now?”_

 _Felix shrugged, “The usual. Plus whatever black market goodies our friends down there in 32-A might have on their bodies.” He fixed the older man with a level stare, “Hell, Sarge, since Locus is there I may be feeling oddly charitable this time.  I’m almost tempted to pitch in for_ free _.”_

_The steel with orange trim armored mercenary quickly turned to face Kimball then, “But that’s really just a figure of speech.” He hastily told her, “I would definitely still prefer getting paid.”_

_“Wouldn’t anyone?” Grif remarked under his breath to Tucker, who couldn’t help but nod his head in agreement. He knew he would have wanted that option if he’d been given a choice._

_“Figures.” Sarge muttered in his own aside, clearly unimpressed by the display he had just witnessed from the one person in the army he wasn’t capable of tolerating. His dislike of Felix seemed to even overpower his inherent, innate dislike of the colors orange and blue.  It was maybe even stronger than his inherent hatred of Grif._

_“Of course.” Kimball nodded in response to Felix’s commentary, choosing to completely ignore the sarcastic remark her technical second-in-command had given under his breath, “The sentiment is appreciated regardless, Felix.”_

_Felix grinned over at Sarge, prompting the older man to roll his eyes and clutch his shotgun tighter. Tucker noticed that Grif took a subconscious step away from his commanding officer just then, probably due to force of habit._

_“By that logic though, any of the other Freelancers could join in on the fun too.” York spoke up, his one good brown eye glancing over at North, “I think quite a few of us would love to have a chance to get back at Wyoming.”_

_“You guys wouldn’t be the only ones.” Tucker pointed out then, remembering his own run-in with the white-armored Freelancer from earlier, “That asshole nearly killed me and Caboose along with North!”_

_And Washington as well, but that was neither here nor there considering that the blond-haired Freelancer was still working for Above Ground. It was kind of annoying how Tucker had very nearly blurted out his name too though, making his frown even more pronounced._

_“Don’t forget about Freckles and Agent Washington.” Caboose stated quietly, and that vocal mention made Tucker want to sigh loudly in exasperation._

_Leave it to his teammate to not even think twice about mentioning the Washington thing._

_“Washington doesn’t count here! Besides, dude, your fucking giant robot almost killed me too!” the teal-armored soldier hissed at him._

_Caboose was not one to be deterred, his blue eyes regarding Tucker with a customary blank stare as if he wasn’t seeing the point his teammate had been trying to make, “He did apologize later, Tucker.”_

_Well, yeah, it was probably partially Tucker’s fault too for coming up with the bright idea to get Caboose to make Freckles jump in the first place, even if that had been what had ultimately saved everyone’s asses. Which kind of made up for the whole “falling into the lower level with a Freelancer who would say thanks by giving you a concussion” thing by how fucking genius it was._

_The dark-skinned man sighed yet again, figuring that there was probably no point in trying to argue further despite the fact that it was his usual way of responding to Caboose’s comments. Even in the rare instances when his younger teammate was actually making sense.  Force of habit or some shit, he supposed._

_It didn’t seem like a good idea now to continue though, especially with everyone waiting around them to continue on with the meeting._

_Tex spoke up for the first time since she had volunteered to be a part of the scouting party that would be serving as the distraction, “York should be the second member.”_

_Everyone looked over at her in surprise, though her steely expression gave no inkling as to why she had reached that conclusion._

_“How do ya figure that?” Sarge asked the former Freelancer as he raised a gray eyebrow, his tone implying more general curiosity than disagreement._

_“York has personally been to the location already. Besides, he’s a good conversationalist.” She shrugged nonchalantly before adding, “I’m not exactly the best in that department.”_

_Grif scoffed, “Yeah, no shit.”_

_Though his childhood friend had said it under his breath, Tex fixed him with a sharp stare all the same. Tucker was convinced she had super hearing in combination with her insane super strength.  Probably super_ everything _really._

_“Say something like that again and I will end you.”_

_His chubby friend gave a tiny “Eep!” and scooted even further back, which seemed to mollify Tex._

_Tucker would have mocked Grif for it, but he knew his friend’s fear all too well having also been on the receiving end of Tex’s threats for dumb things that had come out of his mouth. So he shot Grif a sympathetic look instead._

_At least for everyone’s sakes the former Freelancer wasn’t in one of her “punch everything that so much as breathes funny” moods tonight._

_“You don’t think I could keep people distracted by talking?” Felix seemed amused, “I don’t know if you’re aware, Tex, but_ some _people here claim I talk too much.”_

 _The mercenary gave a pointed look to the assembled members of the Red and Blue Teams standing in the meeting area, responding to Tucker’s extended middle finger with his own. An oddly nostalgic look crossed over his features, “Actually, that was one of the things about me that would always drive Locus_ insane _. He was just a dick in general though.”_

_“Which is exactly why you being a part of the distraction team might not work to our advantage.” The redhead explained matter-of-factly, “There’s too much history between the two of you. Too much bad blood.”_

_North nodded quietly in agreement, “We can’t really risk guns going off before we’re ready.”_

_The blonde looked over to Kimball for affirmation, and she gave a slight nod. No doubt she wanted to approach this entire situation as cautiously as possible given what was potentially at stake._

_The exchange was not lost on Felix, who grimaced in annoyance both at the nonverbal communication between the former Freelancer and the Resistance leader, but also at being denied his chance to face off against Locus._

_“But what about Wyoming then?” He countered, apparently remembering what York had said earlier, “Wouldn’t what happened with him count as_ bad blood _for all of you?”_

 _“Wyoming doesn’t_ hate _us. He’s just trying to get a bigger paycheck.” York stated, shrugging, “It’s a different kind of animosity.”_

_“Besides, you and North will be assisting the Red and Blue Teams in acting as support once things get underway.” Kimball added as she knew that North had been the former Freelancer directly attacked by Wyoming during the skirmish with the Freelancer and other Above Ground forces earlier: “It might take slightly longer, but you will be getting into battle regardless.”_

_“Wait._ We’re _going to be one of the main attack forces?” Grif asked._

_He shared an “Are you fucking kidding me?” look with Tucker, who could only frown and shrug back in response. It was definitely not going to be something he was looking forward to either, that’s for fucking sure._

_“Blargh?” Junior looked up at his father questioningly, the nervousness evident in his body language as he did so._

_All Tucker could really do in response was squeeze Junior’s hand, his son’s grip surprisingly strong when he returned it despite his smaller size._

_“Well,_ most _of us will be.” Sarge sniffed dismissively at what he no doubt saw as an obvious sign of his insubordinate’s lack of commitment to their plan, “A certain fat, cowardly subordinate will probably just get shot immediately in the beginning of the skirmish and get subsequently trampled on while the rest of us go on to glory!”_

 _“_ _Se te olvidó_ _perezoso. Usted debe estar más preocupado de lo que está dejando en si está olvidando sus insultos habituales._ _”_ {“You forgot lazy. You must be more worried than you are letting on if you are forgetting your usual insults.”}

_There was a pause in which apparently Donut felt it was best to elaborate for his teammate, “I think he means you, Grif.”_

_A sigh, “Yeah, I got that, Donut. Thanks for the clarification.”_

_“Anytime, buddy!”_

_No one had any idea what exactly Lopez had said, but Sarge seemed to take his creation’s comment as some sort of agreement with his earlier remark. He also completely misinterpreted Donut’s attempt at being helpful to Grif as the pink-armored soldier somehow wanting to rub the insult in further._

_If anything, Tucker was fairly certain Donut’s good-natured obliviousness meant that he hadn’t even really been aware Sarge had once again been insulting Grif. In fact, the pink-armored soldier always thought the two seemed to “get along just fine when push came to shove” whenever he was asked about their general disregard for one another._

_The Red Team leader practically beamed at Lopez and Donut, “Now there are some Red Team members who know how to actually show initiative!” He turned his brown gaze to Grif thoughtfully, “Though I suppose you getting shot and serving as a large stepping stone for everyone following after you_ would _be singlehandedly the biggest contribution you ever gave to the fight.”_

_“That’s the spirit, Sarge!” Donut clamored out happily, before adding with a bit of a frown, “Well, kind of.”_

_Lopez gave the robot equivalent of a sigh and shook his head._

_“_ _No importa_ _._ _Acababa_ _olvidado_ _usted es_ _una locura.”_   {“Never mind. I had just forgotten you are insane.”}

_“Yet you wonder why I’ve never bowed in awe to your incredible leadership skills before.” Grif let out a sigh of his own._

_“It’s not exactly like you’ve been a stellar soldier either, numb nuts.”_

_The two glared at each other then, and Tucker wondered if maybe there was actual vehemence in their remarks this time simply due to the stress this operation was going to be putting on all of them. Definitely would not be a fucking walk in the park regardless of whatever happened, that’s for sure._

_Donut had nervously been watching the exchange between the two other organic soldiers of Red Team off to the side with Caboose (who, as usual, seemed at a loss as to what was actually going on). So, before Grif had the chance to respond to Sarge’s last comment, the younger soldier spoke up._

_“Aw, it’s too bad that our teams will be attacking directly in this fight.” Donut stated in a less questioning-authority way than Grif had done earlier, and more as if he was just upset because someone had gotten him the wrong type of coffee, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m actually a pro when it comes to sticking it to the rear.”_

_If Tucker hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that this time the dirty blonde said that on purpose because he knew it would break the room’s sudden tension. Donut was practically beaming when everyone turned to look in his direction, a conspiratorial light shining in his eyes._

_The Blue Team member made a mental note to never play a card game with the pink-armored solider, no matter how many times the younger man insisted Strip Poker was wholesome fun._

_Donut’s comment certainly seemed to deflate both Grif and Sarge pretty quickly, as they groaned and shook their heads at the exact same time. When they caught the other doing the exact same thing, they both promptly tried ignoring it._

_“You’re…referring to attacking from the rear, right?” York finally gathered up the courage to ask._

_Grif beat his teammate to a response, perhaps afraid of him breaking anymore brains before the big showdown, “Sometimes it is really just best to not ask him for elaborations.” He advised the former Freelancer._

_“_ _Todos vamos_ _a morir_ _._ _En serio_ _.”_   {“We are all going to get killed.  Seriously.”}

_Lopez’s unknown commentary was followed by another mechanical sigh and a shaking of his helmeted head._

The planning stages following that had gone fairly quickly, all things considered.

Well, as quickly as they were going to get finished considering that half of the room had been comprised of people whose favorite pastime apparently was standing around and talking about nothing if they could get away with doing so. Still, the teal-armored Resistance fighter thought that they deserved major kudos for managing to come up with a strategy and timeframe at all!

Now all that was needed was just to set the whole fucking thing in motion.

Tucker sighed as he reflected on what had transpired for about the fifteenth time since it happened, knowing that if he didn’t get moving soon his brain would probably make certain there would be a sixteenth replay as well.

His gaze lingered on Junior’s form dozing away on top of his bed in the barracks. He was oddly grateful that C.T.’s foray into babysitting had tired his son out.  The child had been far too exhausted to fight going to sleep despite how nervous he had gotten over the course of the strategizing meeting earlier.

That was perfectly fine in his book. Junior could fight with surprising ease due to his alien lineage, yes, but he was still just a far too young kid to have to deal with this sort of thing in the same capacity as an adult.

Better for Tucker to be worried enough for the both of them. That was what parents did, right?

He supposed he should also be grateful that Doctor Grey’s mystery medicine seemed to be doing the trick too, as he probably should have been a lot less focused and cognitive given how much alcohol he’d drunk earlier.

Here’s to hoping that it kept working and that the migraine wouldn’t come back with a vengeance at the worst possible time in the next couple of hours. Knowing his luck?  That would probably happen just as someone like that jackass Wyoming was about to take out the ridiculously handsome fighter in the teal armor with the badass energy sword.

With that both morbid and insanely high self-esteem boost sentiment floating around at the forefront of his thoughts, Tucker reluctantly pulled himself away from his sleeping son’s bedside.

He reached over and touched Junior’s shoulder once as if to reassure himself that he knew exactly what he was going out to fight for, before stepping out of his room to go meet up with everyone for the mission start. Junior hadn’t been the reason Tucker had joined the Resistance, but his son’s tiny, alien form had subsequently come to represent all of the various reasons he continued to do so.

The Resistance would be using the corridors where they had gotten Freckles through before to head into 32-A. The aforementioned giant robot being additional firepower Tucker was actually going to be glad to have around for once.

What Tucker hadn’t been expecting when he turned into another hallway was for _Felix_ to be standing there, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest plate.  The mercenary had been staring directly at the Blue Team member as if he had been waiting for him to show up.

“Hey.” Felix nodded in a bored fashion, detaching himself from the wall as he did so, “Pretty much everybody else is already waiting to go. We have about five minutes before we move out.”

Shit! That’s what Tucker got for replaying memories and not paying attention to his built-in helmet timer!  No wonder the thing was annoyingly flashing off to the side of his vision.

“Caboose wanted to come find you, but C.T.’s been trying to get him to help keep the assault droid calm. Told them I’d do it instead.” The dark-haired man informed Tucker.

“So you waited outside the barracks because…?”

Felix shrugged, “Didn’t want to stumble on any weird interspecies familial moment you two might have been having.”

“Dude, it’s the fucking same thing as with any family.” Tucker’s response was snappy as always. He couldn’t really stand it when people made snide remarks in regards to his son.

The mercenary’s response was yet another shrug. This one was apparently meant to be slightly apologetic though: “Sorry.  Hard thing to process, I suppose.”

“Whatever. Just try not to say that shit in front of him, okay?” Tucker figured he would let it slide just this once, if only because he supposed he had to give the mercenary credit.  It was nice that he hadn’t just barged into the barracks and not been at all considerate of the situation, even if his wording as to why he hadn’t had been all sorts of asshole-y.

“Fair enough.” They started making their way through the winding passageways to the larger expanse of tunnels where Freckles and most of their other compatriots would be. Felix glanced over at Tucker after a few seconds of silence, “Is the kid asleep?”

So the mercenary was trying to make small talk now? Maybe Felix was more on edge than Tucker thought.  Felix usually avoided that type of stuff when there were more pressing matters at hand.

In fact, the last time he’d really done it, was probably when he’d thought Tucker had a concussion back when they first met and had talked about pretty much anything to keep him from drifting off into unconsciousness again. Otherwise, when it was on missions that Felix felt took priority, he always pressed for people to try to remain professional.  Though the freelancer usually fell into his own biting commentary when that failed given who he was dealing with.

It was possible that Felix was anxious, Tucker supposed. Especially given Locus’ confirmed appearance in the tunnels.

The dark-skinned man nodded, the expression underneath his helmet turning grimmer with each passing moment, “Yeah.”

If things ended up going according to plan, the tunnels where the base was located shouldn’t get involved in the skirmish at all. Though Kimball had thought it prudent to keep a fairly decent sized portion of troops as security besides just to play it safe.  So, all things considered, it was still a safer spot for Junior to be taking a nap in than the Slums would be.

Still, given that Tucker wasn’t sure what was going to happen in the next few hours, the idea of leaving Junior without his or a more trusted companion’s supervision for any length of time made him feel uneasy.

There was also the possibility that he could be killed during the fighting as well. What would happen to Junior then?  What if none of his friends or teammates survived the battle either?  Then what?  The unknowns all seemed to be lining up right now just to kick his mental ass.

As if sensing the growing anxiety swirling around the Resistance fighter, Felix awkwardly patted Tucker’s shoulder, “He’ll be fine, Tucker. We’ll be back before you know it.”

It was an odd gesture coming from a mercenary who proclaimed that the only thing he really wanted from his involvement in the war was a terminal as big as a sports-field and a house large enough to put it in. But, Tucker supposed it was just because Felix was reacting to how he was feeling at the moment.  An ally in a fight who had his mind focused elsewhere was probably considered a bad thing in any combat manual.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said quietly, both to assure himself and to reassure Felix that he would have his head in the game when it came to the plan.

They made another turn in the tunnels. Tucker supposed small talk wasn’t just a deflection for Felix when he felt ill at ease since he just then found himself asking the mercenary: “How do you think this whole thing will play out?”

There was a long pause before Felix finally answered, almost as if he had been mentally deliberating how best to respond to that particular inquiry. The dark-haired man’s hand flexed just above the sheath that held his favorite combat knife, but he let it drop to his side a mere second later.

“I can honestly say I have no idea, Tucker.” His helmet’s visor was pointed straight ahead, and there was a determined gait to his step that Tucker had to speed up to match, “I have a feeling it will definitely turn out interesting though.”

*****

 _“This is so bor-ing.”_ Palomo’s voice chimed in over the comm-channel, stressing the last word and drawing it out to further hit the point home, _“Like, seriously! I’m really_ bored _!”_

Volleyball spoke up then, somehow managing to sound both amused and exasperated all at once, _“We know, Palomo. We heard you when you told us that five minutes ago.”_

 _“_ Also _when you said it ten minutes before that!”_ Jensen supplied helpfully, _“Did you manage to get your armor’s automated clock stuck on snooze again?”_

 _“Er…”_ There was a slight pause that all but confirmed to the other lieutenants that that was indeed most likely what happened, _“Is that why the numbers keep blinking and something static-y keeps screaming in my ears every once in a while? It made me spill my soda earlier!”_

 _“Soda wasn’t allowed in the first place.”_ John Smith reminded him.

 _“But standing makes me thirsty!”_ Palomo whined, _“Now my gun’s all sticky.”_

 _“You mean it isn’t usually?”_ Kaikaina teased.

From nearby, Bitters could hear Matthews sputter slightly at the radio commentary. The lieutenant wondered just how red his teammate’s face became under his helmet whenever Kaikaina and Palomo got started on their conversations.

Unfortunately, he would probably get punched for even attempting to give in to temptation and just yank the damn thing off Matthews’ head one of these days to satiate his curiosity.

Jensen sighed in response to Palomo’s earlier description of what was going on with his clock settings, seeing as how she took any mechanical issues that cropped up rather seriously, _“I’ll check your helmet out for you the next time we’re off-duty.”_

 _“Thanks, Jensen!”_ The grin that was no doubt plastered all over his childhood friend’s face was quite evident in his cheery response, _“You’re the best!”_

Volleyball muttered something to Jensen that sounded an awful lot like _“Try not to encourage him so much.”_ Then the two women seemed to switch over to a private comm-channel to continue whatever discussion they had been having before Palomo would yet again broadcast his discomfort.

Bitters sighed, wondering how many more insightful communications would be in store for them today.

In fairness to Palomo’s declaration of boredom and not _so_ much the soda issue, there really didn’t seem to be any kind of obvious threat on Level One as far as any of them could tell.  They had been put on monitoring duty a few hours ago due to something big apparently going down in the tunnels themselves.

Sarge and Kimball had both been tightlipped in that regard, stating that for the moment it was better for the newer recruits to first and foremost keep their priority focused on their assignment. But, whatever it was that was happening in the tunnels, it seemed pretty far removed from what was happening with the Council representatives and their security forces here on Level One.

The most activity they had seen so far was when a group of armored Above Grounders left the hotel earlier that day. But, they were clearly heading for one of the more obvious always-sealed-to-everyone-but-hackers-and-those-with-proper-clearance tunnel routes that led back to the planet’s surface.

Jensen and Volleyball had even followed them at a discreet pace in order to confirm that they were in fact leaving. They sent an “all clear” signal when the soldiers had gone through and then subsequently sealed back up the first bulkhead denying Slums dwellers access topside.

After informing Kimball of that over the comm-channel, including a description of the various armor colors the soldiers had been wearing, they had been commended for their observations. They were also told that they should continue with their orders as they stood.

Smith surmised that it seemed as if Kimball knew who the Above Grounders were, so perhaps there was more to that story than they knew at the moment.

Beyond that particular burst of activity though, there wasn’t too much going on. No random assholes starting to shoot at passersby or anything like that.  Which was something to be grateful for, at the very least.

In order to cover more ground, the lieutenants and private had split up into smaller teams with an open channel on to report in to one another if something should happen. They figured that that was the best way to observe the comings and goings of the “guests” of the hotel given how large a building it was.

Volleyball and Jensen were on one team while Palomo, Kaikaina, and Smith comprised another.

Bitters almost felt a little bad for Smith’s arrangement seeing as how his childhood friend and Kaikaina could certainly be a handful, especially when grouped together. Though he was also rather grateful in a way that it meant he didn’t have to currently deal directly with annoying commentary or over-the-top shenanigans personally.

Granted, he still had to fight the urge to bang his head against a wall when he overhead some of it on the open channel. So, it wasn’t like Smith was suffering a test of patience completely alone either.

Naturally, though, that meant that he was stuck with Matthews. This arrangement was proving to be a rather awkward situation given what had happened between them before.

Which, in turn, was made even more awkward by the fact that _now_ was really neither the time nor the place for it be addressed.  Instead it lingered in the air between them like the heavy silence that would sometimes accompany whenever Palomo said a joke that fell flat, or whenever Captain Donut said an odd remark that no one wanted elaboration on.

The two rookies were right now walking through a side-alley on the left side of the hotel building. It was the location of a side door that served as an exit for emergencies, or a convenient spot tucked away from view whenever there was a guest who wanted to make a discreet entrance or getaway.

Matthews was currently pretty much looking in every other direction but at Bitters. The body language beneath his yellow-trimmed armor was very much tense, due to both the aforementioned awkwardness and because of their mission.

Bitters was, for his part, trying to mentally will the door to open largely just _for_ something to happen.  Preferably something of the nonlethal variety, of course.  He was also wanting to distract himself from getting even more annoyed by the situation he found himself in with his teammate.

The Slums dweller supposed it was only fair that this time he would have to be the one to make the effort to get things back to normal between them. After all, he knew Matthews had really gone out of his comfort element to work up the nerve to do so already.  Still, it was beyond frustrating knowing that he would have to wait to do that until after this whole mess was over and done with.

 _“I really wish we didn’t have to keep our helmets on all the time.”_ Palomo was speaking again, _“I have an itch on my nose that is driving me nuts. It’s not going away!”_

 _“Oh, those itches suck major ass!”_ Kaikaina chimed in sympathetically, _“Although the_ worst _kind of itches are the ones you get down—“_

Bitters and Matthews both glanced over at one another then instinctively to gauge the other’s reaction to their teammates’ new banter. It was a force of habit, really, when dealing with Kaikaina.  Everyone would glance at the other people nearby just to make sure that they had heard what she said correctly.

The eye contact was brief, as they seemed to both remember the awkward avoidance dynamic they had fallen into. But, even with his roommate’s helmet on, Bitters was fairly certain he could picture the blush that had formed on Matthews’ face as a result of Kaikaina’s sentence.  Just as he was fairly certain that Matthews could most likely picture Bitters’ own raised eyebrow in response to the same exact thing.

He briefly wondered if Matthews was just as tempted as he was to sometimes yank his teammate’s helmet off to see if his assumptions on what was underneath were correct.

For some reason, thinking that made Bitters both smile slightly and feel oddly relieved.

 _“Orders are orders, Palomo.”_ Smith interrupted before Kaikaina could finish what would have no doubt been a very colorful complaint about what were the worst types of itches to experience, _“Let’s at least try to keep this channel open for mission details only from here on out, all right?”_

Leave it to John Smith to attempt to get things more focused. He’d been surprisingly patient up until that point, given everything.

There were a few remarks such as _“Aw, you’re no fun!”_ from Palomo and _“But you didn’t even let me finish!”_ from Kaikaina, which was promptly followed by a very mature _“That’s what she said to me the other—Hey, wait a minute!”_ from Palomo two seconds later.  But, after that, the two younger recruits complied sullenly with the request.

Jensen then used the silence to voice a question that had been plaguing all of their minds for a while: _“They still aren’t doing anything, but doesn’t it seem like all of the soldiers have been heading back to the hotel instead of leaving it?”_

From next to Bitters, Matthews nodded. The auburn-haired lieutenant never did seem to remember how wasted body language was when it came to non-visual communication channels: “You’re right.  All of the soldiers in civilian clothes seem to be returning here.”

They had recently seen a few of the poorly concealed Above Ground security forces milling around the hotel or heading inside, all with an air of purpose to their steps that they hadn’t really displayed earlier when the recruits had first started this monitoring shift.

The Above Ground soldiers still seemed to be only observing things, and none of them had even remotely reached for their weapons. But, it was a noticeable shift in how they had been operating up until now all the same.

 _“So either it’s time for the buffet…”_ Palomo began theorizing.

 _“Or the adult channels just got some awesome new porn movies…”_ Kaikaina continued.

“Or they have received new orders.” Bitters finished for them, figuring it was best to get to the point before anymore outlandish theories were thrown out there by their two most eccentric teammates.

 _“Kimball may have been right about the Council reps prepping to leave in a big hurry.”_ Volleyball surmised.  Bitters could even picture the frown forming on her features.

 _“Quite possibly.”_ One didn’t have to see Smith’s face to know he was most likely frowning in thought as well, the expression probably deepening the lines already present on his face.

Bitters shrugged, “Well, as long as they leave without blowing shit up, I say good fucking riddance.”

“B—Bitters…” Matthews was regarding him with a mixture of surprise and an odd tinge of sympathy, so the lieutenant in orange-trimmed armor realized he had probably sounded way too harsh then.

There was no way that his teammates wouldn’t have picked up on that. They probably had even guessed that Bitters had some kind of bad connection with Above Grounders from before.

The uneasy silence from the others over the comm-channel all but confirmed it.

He sighed at the realization and turned to Matthews, “We all knew that the peace talks were fake anyways. The sooner these assholes leave, the better.”

Bitters tried to sound more assuring this time than out rightly mad in the hopes that it would alleviate the sudden concern being directed his way. Still, it was admittedly hard to do given how the Council’s presence here in general after _everything_ was just impossible for him to not view as fucking insulting.

Matthews looked like he was inwardly debating trying to think of how to respond, his free hand twitching as if he wanted to use it to grip onto the one currently holding his gun. Bitters didn’t want to dwell too long on what it meant that he seemed to be able to pick up on that telltale sign of his teammate’s nervous habit so quickly now.

At that moment, Smith’s voice coming through the comm-link beat the auburn-haired fighter to whatever he had been about to say.

 _“That’s true.”_ The older lieutenant stated quietly, his voice oddly calm and rational as if he had rehearsed what he was saying in his head well before speaking it.  Had he been telling himself similar things about this mission since it started as well?

_“Though we need to be on alert regardless. Especially since we don’t know for certain what exactly is going on.”_

Just as Smith finished talking over the channel, the door to the hotel that the two Resistance rookies were standing by suddenly slid open.

The surprised lieutenants turned around to stare at the exit. Instinctively, as his teammate had been standing closest to the door, Bitters forced Matthews to step back with a strong grip on his yellow-trimmed shoulder.

Matthews turned to glance at him as if to question the gesture. Or to possibly complain about the sudden forceful contact that could have tripped him.  But, he quickly whipped his head back around to focus his complete attention on the possibly hostile figure now emerging from the doorway as well.

Instead of an armed Above Ground soldier staring harshly back at them though, there was a dark-skinned woman in white armor with purple trim. She peered out of the exit with her helmet off and no visible weapon in sight.

The dark-haired woman regarded them carefully, taking in their appearances with brown eyes before smiling: “Never thought I’d be so glad to see people in armor not from Above Ground before!”

The two Slum dwellers stared at each other, not quite sure how to process this strange turn of events.

The woman continued on, her voice cheery in a rather manic sounding way, “No one is telling me anything even as they’re all packing up to go.” A rather annoyed look flitted over her features at the recollection, “It’s like the non-combat personnel don’t even exist to them!”

“Er…” Bitters could not think of anything else to say, his brain suddenly failing him.

Did this lady not realize how it might come across to talk so openly to people who were technically enemies of her employers? How should they even handle an unarmed non-combat member of Above Ground military anyways?

While both he and Matthews were having their own personal inner debates on what to do, there was no doubt that the other lieutenants were wondering why their side of the conversation had suddenly gone completely silent.

Getting no response from the Resistance fighters in front of her, the woman stepped out of the hotel fully.

“Don’t worry! You guys don’t have to tell me anything!  That would be way more understandable than my co-workers being the pricks that they are right now.” She informed them, as if picking up on the reason that the two lieutenants hadn’t really said anything yet: “But, I do have a question to ask!”

She glanced past them and the side-alley, her sharp gaze focused on the main streets of Level One as if she was searching for something specific there.

“I’m looking for a guy in steel armor with yellow highlights!” She stated in her oddly cheery tone, “He left in a big hurry earlier. I don’t think he knows they’re pulling out now since he apparently thought it would be a good idea to turn his radio off.  You haven’t seen him heading back here, have you?”

*****

To people not born in the Slums or who simply didn’t spend quite some time in them, Agent Washington imagined that the labyrinthine tunnels were a nightmare to navigate.

The tunnels’ numbering didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason behind it, for starters. He honestly wasn’t sure it _ever_ had, even back when the Slums had been the only settlement on the planet and there hadn’t been so many branching subsections and corridors.  It made no sense.  At all.

There was also the fact that most of the tunnels weren’t even clearly marked to begin with. Many suffered from fluctuating power in terms of lighting, and quite a large number of them simply looked identical to countless others.  Plus there were the tunnels that looked as though they had been ransacked after being abandoned, or ones that were also partially collapsed and unstable in areas.

It was not difficult to imagine people getting lost in the mines if they weren’t discerning enough in regards to their surroundings. No doubt even those who had spent years traversing the various tunnel areas also had challenges in remembering exactly where they were in certain parts.

When Washington had been younger, the thought of willingly entering the underground portions of the planet had never even crossed his mind. He hadn’t seen himself as being nearly as brave or resourceful as Connie back when they were kids.

All things considered, it was easy enough for him to picture himself having a pretty horrific success rate if he had ever attempted to venture down into the tunnels as she had. Besides, back then he wouldn’t have been motivated by the need to get away from drama at home as she had been.

A part of Washington wondered if she ever regretted that early excursion now, given everything that had happened as a result of her meeting with the man who would later become the leader of the Insurrection. But, he also knew that she had never been the sort of person to let regret bog her down.

Agent Connecticut had adapted to what occurred in her life. His childhood friend always steadfastly acted in a way she saw as “right” even when others weren’t willing to listen to her.  The Above Grounder certainly regretted now never taking her talk on Freelancer more seriously, especially given the influx of memories he received from Epsilon.

But, that was just one of many situations that when he looked back on he would have handled differently if he was given the opportunity. The Freelancer had made far too many mistakes in his past, and the fact that he was more than likely again making several more now did not sit well with him.

No, thinking back on it, Washington knew that if he had gone into the tunnels as a child it would have ended badly. The Above Grounder just knew that “David” would have gotten hopelessly lost, potentially even managing to fall down a bottomless pit or something in the process.  Despite there not really being anything like a bottomless pit in reality, it was an apt figure of speech regardless.

Washington had always been something of a klutz, embarrassingly enough. Though, thankfully, it seemed as if his Freelancer training had finally helped alleviate it somewhat.  It only took several months of him being a laughingstock to his teammates, not to mention a shitload of trauma and betrayals, to get him to only trip over a loose cable wire twenty percent of the time instead of eighty.

In retrospect, that was probably one of those accomplishments that was best kept to himself than really spoken of out loud.

That was more or less over with now anyways, at least as far as his confidence in traversing the tunnels underneath his birthplace were concerned. He had spent countless hours upon hours going over diagrams and maps, even going into some of the more hazardous locations in the tunnels that Slums residents were wary of traversing.

It was required training for all Above Ground military, and a vital component of Freelancer routines in particular.

After all, when it came to potential threats to Above Ground society in general, it was far more likely that the danger would come from below. If only largely because of the way the situation had always been.

Somewhat naively back then, he hadn’t really questioned that too much. Now that he knew firsthand all of the mitigating factors, he tried not to think of the “whys” behind everything just to make things easier in the long run.

It was especially important to try to not dwell on them when he still had a job to do.

Washington frowned at his own personal musings, moving quietly through yet another portion of tunnel that looked as if a small explosion had been detonated there sometime in the past. More than likely, that was probably an accurate assessment.  This corridor _was_ one of the corridors that had been used for mining, and it was near the spot of the famous mining uprising awhile back.  There was more than enough plausible reasoning for explosions in both circumstances, as well as for why it had been abandoned some time ago.

By his interpretation of the schematics of the area, he was _close-ish_ to 32-A.  Maybe?

Okay, so perhaps while he was able to move through the mines easier now, saying that he was completely sure of where he was going while doing so was a bit of an exaggeration.

York would probably be laughing his ass off if he saw him now, trying to figure out exactly where he was. Tucker too.

Thinking of either Resistance fighter at that moment was a bad idea.

Washington mentally berated himself for doing so, all while actively trying to clamp down on his growing sense of guilt and unease. Those feelings were ones that he was constantly denying, despite the fact that they had been building up steadily inside of him ever since he ventured down here.

Had he done the right thing earlier by advising Tucker to go back to the Resistance as he had? Or had he instead just potentially jeopardized the mission and put the younger man in harm’s way?  Was the mission even something he necessarily wanted to see through to completion?

It wasn’t as if Washington didn’t know that Malcolm Hargrove was a complete and utter bastard. Whatever the Chairman was doing down here, it was clearly without the full consent of all Above Ground authorities.  It was also sure as hell most likely not going to be very good for a wide range of people.

Was his getting to be truly and completely free from Project Freelancer’s shadow worth it?

The only response to the blonde’s inner turmoil was the looming darkness and silence suffocating him from throughout the corridor.

Standing there gathering his thoughts caused memories that he tried to avoid dwelling on to claw their way to the surface. Both his own memories and Epsilon’s.  The newfound prickling sensation of unease and _fear_ Washington felt down here in the passageways definitely came from him, the Freelancer knew.

He had to take several deep breaths to fight back against a sudden urge to scream.

_Yes. Yes, it was all worth it._

That was what those memories seemed to be trying to tell him.

He had done his part to lessen his conscience by warning Tucker. That _had_ to be enough if Washington wanted to ensure that what he had done up until this point wasn’t wasted.

Besides, the more rational and logical part of his mind reasoned, he still didn’t even really know _what_ exactly Hargrove was up to down here.  The only thing the message had said was that his assistance could possibly be required.

At the very least, the Above Grounder wanted to go far enough to find out just _what_ he had gotten into by agreeing to take part in Hargrove’s assignments.

Once he had more information, that same rational part of him reasoned, he would finally be able to fully commit one way or the other. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be standing in empty, maddeningly quiet spaces while he had inner debates with himself.

If anyone stumbled upon him in the middle of one these debates they would probably justifiably wonder about his sanity.

“Ow!”

The exclamation came from behind Washington, just as he made out the faint lettering on the side of one of the tunnel’s walls that informed him he had _finally_ found one of the off-shoot tunnels that led to 32-A.

The Freelancer spun around quickly, weapon pointed in the direction of the potential threat. His finger was already slightly starting to squeeze down on the trigger.

Instead of a poorly executed surprise attack from a Resistance fighter or someone else who had been planning to ambush him, he found himself looking at Doctor Emily Grey as she hopped in one spot while rather comically holding her armored foot. Apparently she had tripped over some rubble while struggling to catch up to him.

The woman gave a small “Eep!” at the gun suddenly being pointed at her, dropping her foot quickly to raise up both of her arms to indicate that she wasn’t a threat.

Why even a non-combat employee of the Above Ground military would come into the mining tunnels with only their medical tools and no foreseeable weapon considering that they technically counted as “enemy territory,” he couldn’t even begin to fathom. But, the actions of medical personnel in particular had always puzzled Washington.

Given how loud her outburst was, he doubted she was a secret expert in stealth. If he hadn’t been having an internal monologue with himself _again_ she probably wouldn’t have even caught him off-guard.

“Doctor Grey?” He was too startled by how close she’d gotten before he had noticed her approach to be annoyed or overly suspicious, “What are you doing here?”

“I could be asking you the same thing, Agent Washington!” She recovered from her surprise over the gun and her foot twisting quickly, acting as if this whole occurrence was a perfectly normal interaction, “The Council is pulling out, you know. Everyone’s leaving.”

Of course he knew.

He had turned off the radio in his helmet because Hargrove’s mission required a certain level of secrecy. It hadn’t even occurred to him that anyone beyond Carolina, who already had her suspicions on what he’d been up to recently, would even take notice.

“So, when you didn’t show up and no one was able to get into contact with you, I figured I’d kill some time and look for you myself after I’d packed. Just in case you didn’t know what was going on.” Doctor Grey nodded her head, her white and purple helmet bobbing with the motion as she recalled the events leading up to now, “Even asked some Resistance guys about you.  They were nicer than I thought they’d be, even though they couldn’t tell me anything.”

She put her hands on her hips, and a distinct measure of pride entered into her voice: “Of course, after that I remembered the tracker I accidentally dropped in one of the drinks last night. Turns out you were the lucky guy who ended up with it!”

Washington could _not_ have heard that correctly, “Could you…repeat that?”

“I’d been wanting to see how durable those little guys really are, so that little mix-up ended up turning out rather well!” She tilted her head slightly to the side, “Guess that goes to show what happens when you’re more focused on the guy you’re trying to get drunk than what you’re putting into your mouth, huh?”

The implication about how she viewed the drinking contest between Tucker and himself aside, Washington was still trying to process the whole _“he’d accidentally swallowed a tracker because someone had wanted to see what it would do”_ thing.  The slight headache he’d been having throughout the whole day was starting to come back with a vengeance.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Doctor Grey seemed to pick up on his thoughts, “It should safely dissolve in six more hours, give or take. If not, there’s always surgery if you _must_ have it out!”

Before he could even begin to respond with how there should definitely _not be a tracker floating around in his stomach_ in the first place, the doctor took a step forward and regarded him thoughtfully.

“So, what are _you_ doing down here then?” She asked, sounding more curious than even remotely suspicious.

He blanched, not quite sure how to answer, “I have…business down here. Orders.”

Not really a lie, but definitely not the full truth either.

Washington was running damage control in his head, trying to think of ways to get the good-natured-albeit-most-likely-really-not-all-there doctor to head back to the Slums. Before someone noticed she was either down here, or not with the Above Ground military sent to accompany the Council representatives.

He doubted Hargrove would care for any loose ends, regardless of Above Ground affiliation or not.

So, Doctor Grey’s best protection was continued ignorance on what was really going on. Same as with Florida’s squad.

The idea that she might get killed simply because she had been concerned for him, albeit in her own peculiar way, didn’t exactly sit well with Washington.

Before he could come up with a convincing reasoning as to why she should get out of the tunnels immediately, with safety being a great one for a whole myriad of reasons, a very large explosion shook the corridor.

Then the farther away sound of repeated gunfire started following it mere seconds later.

Washington spun back around to face the entryway to Tunnel 32-A, rising dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He knew now that he had just lost whatever time he’d had to try to get the doctor to leave.

Doctor Grey let out another small “Eep!” as she looked thoroughly confused and alarmed by the sudden noise of fighting coming from further up ahead. But, she was also staring questioningly in that direction at the same time.

They hadn’t known each other for too long, but it was obvious the woman had a very large inquisitive streak that in this particular instance was definitely going to bite the Freelancer in the ass.

Washington sighed.

Whatever hesitancy he had in getting directly involved due to his growing suspicions, and the thought of innocent people like Doctor Grey or even Tucker stumbling into the middle of it? Well, it seemed as if there really was nothing he could do for it now but move forward.

*****

Dexter Grif hated doing pretty much _anything_ beyond eating, drinking, smoking, and sleeping.  They were the four parts of relaxation in his book.  He had to admit that in this case though, sitting around doing nothing while _waiting_ to do something extremely life-threatening and dangerous?

Definitely high up on the list of things he would like to never have to do again anytime soon.

Hell, even Donut and Caboose seemed to be able to sense that something was off. Usually both younger comrades-in-arms were far too chipper and not as fully with it in terms of the situations they found themselves in.  But, right now, they seemed a lot more subdued and quieter.

It was kind of freaking him out.

Normally a lot of their antics would make him want to roll his eyes, or throw out a sarcastic remark. At this particular moment he was actually finding himself sort of missing their moronic behavior.

The Red and Blue Teams, along with a few other squads of Resistance fighters he was only more or less acquainted with and even _Kimball_ (which had surprised him quite a bit, honestly), were standing in a large corridor directly below 32-A.

According to the coordinates York had given them, the spot with the relic should only be about a turn and a short walking distance away.

It was strange how quiet things seemed to be, save for any noise they had made on their way here and the sounds one usually associated with the mines. They had attempted to traverse the corridors as silently as possible and had done a pretty fucking good job of it, but let’s face it: any large group of people moving quickly would realistically make some noise regardless of how stealthy they were.

But other than an occasional drip of liquid here or there, or a stone falling from a crack on a wall, or electrical hisses and hums as power either worked or struggled its way through an area? Things were strangely silent, particularly given what was going on further along from where they were positioned. 

Though Grif supposed that could just be due to the mercenaries themselves also attempting to be stealthy, as York recalled practically stumbling on top of the group at work earlier without having even heard or seen them at first.

A glare from what seemed to be some very high-powered lights could be seen in the general direction of their targets, illuminating an otherwise completely darkened space. The lights seemed to be the portable kind that miners would sometimes carry with them when traversing the tunnels, in case they came upon a spot where the actual lighting was either dead or extremely temperamental.

That alone was a pretty big indication that someone had recently been working on _something_ down here.

Miners wouldn’t leave portable lights behind as they were a very valuable resource. He’d seen a bill for one once during his errand running days.  The things were _not_ cheap!  If someone had left them on because they had been in a big hurry to leave quite some time ago, they would have stopped working long before now.

Grif had to clamp down on the ever-growing _“It’s a trap!”_ paranoia he had been experiencing on this mission ever since they had entered the tunnels.

Of course, Tucker’s whole “It’s too fucking quiet, don’t you think?” aside a few seconds later did not really help.

Before Grif could even come up with his usual sarcastic remark to deflect his own unease over that very same issue, Felix beat him to the punch.

“It would be _even_ quieter if someone would maintain silence like they’re supposed to.” The mercenary said from where he was standing closest to the entranceway that they were going to be using as soon as they were given the signal to launch their part of the plan.

“I’m just saying! If we’re this close, shouldn’t we be hearing _something_?” Tucker did lower his voice, though he’d been whispering already.

Unless they were shouting at one another, odds were very good the mercenaries in the other portion of tunnel would not be able to hear them given the distance. Still, it was probably a good thing that Sarge decided to stay quiet at this point in time given how his indoor voice was permanently set to _“shouting to the heavens”_ volume.

“Like, shouldn’t we be hearing them using some kind of machinery to move the fucking thing?”

Tucker had a point there. The equipment used to haul materials out of the mines were usually far from quiet, after all.  They tended to require whoever operated them to wear shielding of some sort over their ears to avoid hearing loss.  Most machinery and vehicles that Above Ground brought with them into the mines tended to be noisier too.

Apparently they had quieter machines in the city itself, but the ones that were capable of going underground were based around tech from the mining colony as they had perfected traversing through the tunnels.

Not to mention, many Above Grounders had more difficultly maneuvering large pieces of machinery through cramped passageways than those who had spent their lives doing so. That tended to lead to more banging noises in general whenever they brought equipment down into the mines.

“Maybe they’re still in the brainstorming phase.” Felix suggested, probably more just to get Tucker to stop talking and focus, “I imagine trying to find a way to safely move an alien relic and keep it intact at the same time would take awhile.”

“Probably couldn’t just push or kick it like a ball.” Caboose interjected his own thoughts into the conversation, “Unless it _is_ a ball!”

“Oh, did someone say balls?” Donut perked up at the blue-armored fighter’s comment.

“¿En serio? ¿Eso es lo único que obtuvo de toda esa conversación?” _{“Seriously? That is the only thing you got from that entire conversation?”}_

Lopez appeared to be staring at his pink-armored teammate with as close to a look of disbelief as a humanoid robot could probably get.

Grif sighed and shook his head.

Yeah, weird as it was, maybe it had been better when Caboose and Donut had been quiet earlier. At least because there was no danger of his brain exploding from really bizarre commentary like those two little gems this exchange provided.

“…Why the fuck would the aliens try to hide an antique _ball_ from everyone, Caboose?” The blonde’s teammate asked, an exasperated note crawling into his voice.  Tucker wisely chose to apparently ignore Donut’s question entirely.

“Because they could not explain the rules and they didn’t want anyone to feel bad!” Caboose stated matter-of-factly, without even taking a second to really think of how bizarre that would sound to everyone else.

“I don’t know. From how big York was saying it was I bet it would be really hard to play something like kickball with it, even for an alien.” Donut tapped the chin of his helmet thoughtfully, “ _Unless_ it was a giant ball for training mechs.”

“Training mechs?” Grif echoed, fairly certain his brain actually _was_ just about to explode at this point.

“You know, to hone reflexes or for target practice!” His teammate was more than happy to further elaborate on his theory.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Oh, no, Grif! Ball exercises even work absolute wonders on core muscles!” His younger teammate nodded his head enthusiastically, and Grif knew the pink-armored soldier was probably grinning from ear to ear under his helmet.

“Mechs do not have core muscles, Donut.” He pointed out, trying to count backwards in his head from ten to calm himself down.

“But, that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy the mental and emotional benefits of staying in shape!”

The counting thing was really not working too well by this point.

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that, Lieutenant Wafer!” Caboose, on the other hand, looked to be in awe of Donut’s incredible deductive skills.

“Dudo que alguno de ustedes realmente han pensado en nada desde el día en que naciste.” _{“I doubt any of you have actually thought of anything since the day you were born.”}_

“See, Grif? Lopez says he thinks exercise is important for robots too!” Donut translated cheerily.

The brown-armored robot sighed and turned to stare in the other direction.

“Yo realmente deseo que podría apagar mi audiencia a veces.” _{“I really do wish I could turn off my hearing sometimes.”}_

Caboose looked up at the assault droid towering over the group of armored humans and one very disinterested-looking humanoid robot.

“What do you think, Freckles?” He asked in the usual happy “baby tone” he tended to adopt when talking to his dog, “Want to play kickball later? We can invite Smith too!”

Freckles looked down at Caboose and tilted his head slightly as if in a nod before stating: “AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN CABOOSE. ONCE ALL HOSTILE ACTIVITY IN THIS AREA IS CLEARED OUT.”

Freckles’ booming voice was set to a lower decibel, so even though it was loud it seemed to be fairly safe given the distance they were at.

Grif wasn’t really sure if being in an enclosed space with Blue Team’s killer mech was adding to any potential stress he was feeling, or helping to relieve it.

On one hand, having the extra firepower would definitely come in handy for blocking this route off as a potential exit by the mercenaries once things went underway. But, on the other hand, the likelihood of the robot accidently squishing someone was pretty high too.

Even for one of the larger offshoot tunnels, it had been tricky at times getting Freckles through. His massive size was something of a hindrance when it came to traversing the mines quickly.

Also, getting hit by friendly fire became even more of a possibility with the mech involved. Grif was already feeling a little nervous on that front, given that Sarge was cradling his shotgun in preparation for the fight to come and looking over in his direction every so often.  The orange-armored fighter swore he could just hear the maniacal laughter the crazy old man was no doubt biting back on underneath his helmet.

Still, he hoped that was more of the red-armored soldier’s rather questionable tactics for trying to keep his chubby subordinate on his toes than an actual threat.

It was hard to tell with Sarge, sometimes.

“Stimulating conversations like this one, _children_ , are why you should keep talking to a minimum when out on actual missions.” Felix concluded before anyone else could say more.

Grif saw the slight tilt of Tucker’s helmet nearby that indicated he was probably rolling his eyes at the freelancer’s patronizing tone.

Deciding to change subjects slightly before Tucker decided to vocally respond to Felix’s remark, Grif leaned closer to his friend and whispered, “What are the odds they just gave up and left?”

He could picture the frown forming on the dark-skinned man’s face as he responded, “As much as I’d really like for that to happen personally, probably zilch.”

“Fuck.” The chubbier of the two friends sighed, slouching a bit. Couldn’t blame someone for wishful thinking.

“Stay focused, you two.” Sarge spoke up then from where he was standing off to the side of the group, apparently having tuned in from his own preparations in time to hear them talking.

His body language was quite tense as he peered over them and towards the other present members of the Red and Blue Teams, including even Freckles in his gaze, “That goes for everyone from this point on, ya hear?”

For once, Dexter Grif did not feel the need to argue with an order from his commanding officer. Largely because he knew Sarge was right in this situation, and he had actually given an order that made sense _without_ somehow directly or indirectly insulting Grif in the process.  That one thing alone was probably the best indicator that Sarge was taking this mission extremely seriously.

 _“They’re approaching the site now.”_ North’s voice came through the comm-channel just then.

Both he and C.T. had gone further up ahead to scout, as well as to potentially provide cover fire for Tex and York. They were going to backtrack to meet up with the advancing Resistance fighters and offer them support once the distraction part of the plan was well underway.

Silence followed his announcement, and Grif glanced further down the tunnel past the rest of his and Tucker’s teams to where Kimball stood, waiting and listening as well.

Despite arguments that she should stay at the base from both Sarge and Felix, the leader of the Resistance had insisted on taking a more direct involvement in this mission. Her reasoning being that she had felt powerless enough doing nothing while trying to stay in the Council’s goodwill during their forced “peace talks.”

No one could really blame her for wanting to help strike back now that they knew for sure the whole thing had been a sham, though Sarge had insisted she stay further down the tunnels for potential cover at first in case things took a bad turn.

Right now, Kimball looked to be standing as tall and straight as a plank of wood.

For a few painfully slow moments, that tense and wholly uncomfortable silence that falls like a heavy blanket on you when you’re waiting for things to _begin_ descended over the corridor.  It seemed as if everything was just being drawn out.

Then, just as suddenly, Tex was cussing loudly over the comm-link, _“Motherfuckers!”_

Which was followed by an equally pissed off York yelling, _“Shit!”_

The sound of heavy gunfire and bullets ricocheting and getting embedded into walls filled the space up ahead. It combined with a whirring sound that seemed to be almost directly behind where Grif was standing.  That closer noise sounded distinctly like a _—_

Freckles was engulfed in a ball of flame, the force of the explosion throwing Grif and the other soldiers close by either onto the ground or into the walls holding up the roof of the tunnel.

Even with armor on, the heat from the blast was _intense_.  Whirls of black smoke filled the air as tongues of orange and red licked out at the ceiling and sides of the suddenly _far_ too enclosed space.

 _Grif was on Level One again, scrambling to find a ventilation shaft or another route into the mining tunnels that hadn’t been sealed off yet. The smoke burned his lungs.  He couldn’t fucking_ breathe _._

The smoking metal shell of the assault droid stood as if unfazed for about a second after he had exploded. Then what remained of Freckles teetered and collapsed onto his side.

As he finally fell to the ground, several fighters scrambled out of the way to avoid getting crushed underneath the burning debris.

Even worse yet, the explosion had caused cracks to form throughout the tunnel and only helped to enlarge already existing ones. The largest ones seemed to be around the source of the blast given how powerful it had been.

When Freckles fell, the dreaded noise of the ground giving way happened immediately after. The majority of the giant robot’s remains disappeared from view, smoke pluming up and around the sudden hole he had fallen through.  A few other weak spots gave way around that same time as well.

Grif watched in horror, still unable to even fucking breathe properly, as armored figures who weren’t still yet on their feet disappeared as the weak spots collapsed underneath them. Some would hopefully be okay despite the fall, but others?

He turned away from the sight of portions of tunnel ceilings and walls caving over top of the holes in the ground.

“Freckles!” Caboose sounded as if _he_ had been the one a bomb had apparently been strapped to.

Grif was amazed he had recovered enough to be back on his feet and scrambling towards the hole that Freckles’ mechanical body had fallen through. The blonde was apparently not at all thinking of the danger of stepping on potentially unstable ground in his desire to reach his “dog.”

Through stupidly blurry eyes ( _Grif had his helmet on, there was no way smoke and heat was clogging his vision now!_ ), the orange-armored soldier could _just_ make out Donut attempting to hold his friend back so that he didn’t end up hurting himself trying to get to Freckles.

From closer to the entryway that was the central focus of their earlier plan, a detonator was casually tossed onto the ground. It bounced once before falling with a soft thud that was almost comical when compared to the chaos that the little device had just wreaked moments before.

“Oops. Here I thought I had used enough explosives to turn even an assault droid into a pile of ash.” Felix remarked as casually as if he was discussing the weather: “Guess that just goes to show that you should always test out things you buy on the black market first, huh?”

*****

Things had gone to shit in a much different way than Tucker had expected them to, and _way_ too fucking quickly.

First, Tex and York had apparently run into some kind of trouble on their end of the plan. Then Freckles had just fucking _exploded_ before they could even begin to react to what was happening with the two former Freelancers.

Who knew how many fighters he’d managed to inadvertently take out as well during the blast, and with the subsequent cave-ins following that?

Felix, _fucking asshole Felix_ , was standing there looking at what was going on like he was a cat who had just found the perfect spot to lounge.

Beyond the assholes who had killed his mother, Tucker didn’t think it was possible to hate anyone as much as he hated the smirking mercenary right about now.

Felix seemed to take notice of Tucker struggling to stand after having been thrown face-first into the ground from Freckles’ demise. The dark-haired man’s mannerisms took on an oddly perverse gleam in getting the chance to rub what he’d done in someone’s face when he could stare directly at them.

“Oh, don’t feel too bad about not figuring it out before now.” He told Tucker as the teal-armored soldier tried glaring holes at him through his visor.

The usual smugness that came into the man’s voice when he bragged about how good he was seemed to have risen to insane levels now. Considering how much arrogance Felix displayed before, that was quite an accomplishment.

“I’m _very_ good at acting.  Have to almost fool yourself to fool an audience.”

_Steady, steady._

Tucker was on his feet now, air whishing back into his lungs. He hated that he could imagine the acrid smell of smoke burning his nostrils if he paid too much attention to it.  The Resistance fighter’s body was screaming in pain that he shouldn’t be making sudden movements just yet.

Around him, quite a few of the other Resistance fighters who hadn’t fallen or been knocked out in the blast were recollecting themselves too.

Sarge was sitting up, a hand to the side of his helmet as he shook his head as if to clear any cobwebs from it. His other hand was gripping his shotgun as if it was a lifeline.  Lopez was putting one of his arms back into its socket, oil leaking onto the ground as he did so.

Grif was still lying on the ground, nearly frozen. But, his fingers were twitching and moving slightly, and he was slowing starting to sit upright at least.  The explosion had probably put his childhood friend in a state of shock.

Tucker tried not looking at Caboose, or at Donut who was struggling to keep the blonde away from the hole that _most_ of Freckles had fallen into.  All that visibly remained of Caboose’s “dog” were bits of flaming shrapnel strewn about the place.

His teammate looked to be okay physically, though Tucker knew emotionally was another matter. The Slums resident could _not_ focus on that at the moment if he really wanted to keep his attention on Felix.

Somehow the Red and Blue Teams had been more fortunate than some of the other fighters. None of them were sporting major injuries.  Lopez’s arm didn’t count since he was already fixing it.  Nor had they ended up getting caught when the ground started giving way.

Tucker had no idea how they had managed to pull that off given how they had been standing in close proximity to Freckles, but he couldn’t really dwell on that either. He was thankful they weren’t injured too badly, and really sorry that others hadn’t been as lucky.  That was about all the emotion he could stand to place on that turn of events currently.

“Felix, you—“ The teal-armored soldier began.

Felix apparently wasn’t done bragging yet though, so he continued talking as if Tucker hadn’t tried interjecting his opinion ( _which, by the way, would have been a really memorable expletive that would even make someone’s dead grandmother turn in their grave_ ): “Of course, it _was_ easier to pull off just because so many of you are complete idiots in the first place.”

The mercenary was staring directly at the Red and Blue Team members, and Tucker was certain the bastard was smirking.

“The rest of you were just far too trusting for your own good, sadly.” Felix carried on, glancing through the smoke and flames still circling in the air over the hole Freckles had fallen through to lock eyes with Kimball.

“Wouldn’t you agree, _Vanessa_?”

Having been further away from the explosion due to Sarge’s insistence that she hold back, Kimball had recovered quickly. She glared at the mercenary _she_ had hired, and the grip on her gun looked to be insanely firm.

Judging by the way she was looking at the cave-ins and holes already lining the corridor, it seemed as if she was trying to ascertain just how to safely navigate any potential dangers still lurking in the corridor to get a better shot at him.

“Sufficed to say, I’m going to have to cancel the rest of my contract.” Felix continued, acting as if this was just a natural end to a business deal, “Shame too. It was _such_ a cushy gig.  Especially combined with my real job.”

A gun cocked behind him, causing Felix to pause his confession. North was standing there, looking as if he had just come back in a hurry.

Tucker frowned, not seeing any sign of C.T. with him. Had the two been caught in a fight on their way back or something?

“Nice way to terminate your contract, Felix.” The sniper told him, the conversational tone he was trying to fall back into lined with tension.

Felix shrugged, not seemingly caring that a gun was being pointed in his direction at all, or about the various other weapons now targeting him from the front as well, “I can’t say it was as dramatic as breaking into a high security military compound, but it did the trick.”

No doubt Felix had been hoping to catch the former Freelancer off-guard by revealing that he knew what had transpired when he, York, and Tex had defected from Above Ground.

“So, you were working for Hargrove all this time?” North didn’t seem to fall for the bait though.

“Wow. _Nothing_ gets past you Freelancers and your incredible deductive skills.” Felix replied sarcastically, “But, yes, I have been.  My main goal was just to monitor what you freedom fighters were doing, and then throw the occasional wrench into the works.”

“But the alien relic being found changed all of that.” Kimball noted, and it was odd hearing no emotion whatsoever in her voice.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He shrugged, “Hargrove decided that it wasn’t really needed anymore, so I was told to put in one last hurrah to buy my partner some more time.”

“Partner?” Grif managed to wheeze out the question as he finally got to his feet.

“You’ve already met him, I think.” The steel and orange armored mercenary shrugged and shook his head, chuckling slightly, “Come on, guys. This should be an _easy_ one to figure out!”

It was, truthfully, a far too easy answer if one looked at things carefully.

“I thought you said you fucking hated him.” Tucker’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, believe me, I do.” The gloating in Felix’s tone was really starting to get old, “But hatred doesn’t mean you can’t be partners. We work well together.”

At this point, York and Tex had joined up with North. Also bringing along with them a whole squad of mercenaries hot on their heels.

There were battered, crumpled up portions on several of the mercenaries’ pieces of armor that seemed to be roughly the shape and size of a certain redhead’s fist. As well as a few dents that appeared to look an awful lot like bullets had grazed the sides of their armor.  It was easy enough to guess what the red liquid smearing parts of York’s tan armor was along with the shiny smears that looked to make certain portions of Tex’s black armor even darker.

It looked as though the distraction team had been met with a rather heavy surprise attack, but had managed to get in quite a bit of damage before having to pull out.

In other circumstances, Tucker would have almost felt bad for the unlucky assholes who hadn’t gotten out of Tex’s way in particular in time. _Almost_.

Even more mercenaries were suddenly materializing along the walls of the space.

“Fuck.” Grif and Tucker both cursed at the exact same time. Now they were facing several lines of rather scary looking weapons pointed in their direction.

No wonder Felix hadn’t really cared much about how the Resistance would react to his betrayal. He had helped to set up the entire ambush, after all.

“Of course, having connections in the Council also means we have access to _improved_ Freelancer tech.” Felix informed them once the magnitude of just how screwed they probably were had sunk in, “You can check over your radios now, if you like.  We’ll un-jam them long enough so you can confirm that all of the other Resistance fighters in the tunnels are rather preoccupied as well.”

“Assholes.” The expletive from Tex had a particular vehemence to it.

Tucker had a feeling that if looks could kill, Felix and all of his mercenary cohorts would be dead twice over. He shuddered at the thought despite himself: Tex was fucking scary, even if she was on your side.

All Felix did in response to her ire was to simply shrug nonchalantly.

“It’s _business_.  Pure and simple.  Albeit _fun_ business.” He informed the former Freelancer, “Look at it this way: it took a whole lot of time, planning, and resources to find that relic in the first place.  Did you really think we wouldn’t be prepared?”

“So, up until this point, your role in the peace talks in particular was to what, exactly?” When Kimball spoke, it was still in a very calm manner that was practically devoid of emotion.

“Same as it had always been, essentially. I was supposed to keep you guys distracted and keep tensions with the visiting Above Ground soldiers high so that other Council members wouldn’t catch on to the Chairman’s true goal.” Felix explained, “Divide and conquer tactics are fairly simple, but they can have _very_ lucrative results when handled right.”

His gaze swept through the entirety of the tunnel then, at the carnage he’d inflicted with just a press of a button.

“Think about it, Vanessa. How many successful missions did I help you with, which just prolonged the fighting and made Above Ground send more troops to attack you?  How many of you guys did I set up to die over the years for the sake of those very missions?”

She said nothing, but the tremor in her body was apparent even from as far away as she stood to Tucker and the others. The arm holding her gun was positively shaking as if she was mentally struggling to not just raise it and open fire on the man as he was talking.

Her battle for self-control was pretty damn impressive, all things considered.

“How many am I going to kill _now_ that I can just _finally_ do whatever the fuck I want?”

Of course, it seemed as if Felix’s goal was just to egg everyone on by this point. Maybe he just wanted to see how far he could push them.

Grif had stepped up next to Tucker during that last speech. He glanced at his tan friend momentarily, noticing how shaky he still seemed to be on his feet before whispering: “You okay, fat-ass?”

He could just picture Grif’s chubby face grimacing, his focus completely on Felix and the wall of mercenaries with guns pointed at them, “I’m fine, asshole. You?”

“Pissed as all fuck, but fine otherwise.” He used this time to check out the others on their teams again.

Lopez had reattached his arm by now and seemed as fine as ever, observing both the mercenaries and traitor warily. Sarge looked ready to _murder_ Felix with his bare hands, while Donut was awkwardly patting Caboose’s shoulder now that the young man had finally stopped trying to jump through the still smoking hole after his “dog.”

Instead, the blonde was just standing seemingly in shock next to it. Seeing Caboose that distraught in particular only made Tucker’s anger towards Felix that much more palatable.

Yeah, Caboose was a pain in the ass most of the time, but he was harmless and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud, a friend. _No one_ was allowed to mess with him because of that.

Tucker still didn’t know where the fuck C.T. was. The fact that she hadn’t shown up with North earlier, and subsequently hadn’t appeared with York and Tex was making him more than a little worried.  Of all the fucking times to not know where a teammate was, this was probably one of the worst ones.

Felix wasn’t shutting up anytime soon, it seemed. He continued talking as if this was his fucking Academy Award winning speech.  Tucker was getting really annoyed by the sound of his voice.

“Want to know what the real hilarious part of all of this is?” Felix asked them, practically preening. He didn’t pause, meaning he wasn’t given them the chance to answer.

“The only reason I let the cat out of the bag is because the relic is _long gone_ now, as these two behind me can tell you.” He motioned to York and Tex, “The moment you guys came up with your strategy we sped things up, so this whole mission was completely for nothing.”

The mercenary was grinning by now, Tucker just knew it. But that was to be expected since Felix seemed both madly in love with the sound of his own voice and kicking people when they’re down.

“That’s just the story of your lives, huh?”

There was a slight shimmer in the air next to Felix, and suddenly a man in steel and green armor materialized there. Tucker hadn’t met him personally yet, but he recognized him immediately as Locus from how Felix ( _man, that recollection certainly stung now_ ), Grif, C.T., and Tex had described him.

“Are you done?” Locus asked, his voice sharp through the electronic filter he spoke through, “The confirmation of the device being secured topside happened ten minutes ago.”

“Geez, give me a minute!” Felix snapped back at him in annoyance, “Unlike you, I’ve been having to play nice for months. I _really_ need to vent.”

Felix’s partner scoffed slightly, “As soldiers, our attacks should be efficient and quick.”

“You are a fucking broken record. You know that?” As strange as it was to perceive, Felix seemed both annoyed and amused all at once.

“Felix.” The name was said as a warning.

Felix had spoken true earlier, it seemed. There was definite loathing there, but an odd sense of camaraderie too.  Tucker wondered if what Felix had said about how long they had worked together before the “split” was actually true.

“I didn’t even have to fake hating you. That was perfect.” Felix muttered, more to himself and Locus than to anyone else.

His volume increased dramatically for his next revelation, as Felix apparently wanted everyone to hear it: “Besides, does it really matter now? Regardless of what we say or do here, they’ll all be dead soon enough.”

“What?” Kimball stepped forward then, only stopping because lines of yellow light were suddenly dotting her body.

“Hargrove wants to wipe the slate clean with the Slums. Literally.” Her former comrade explained, “You’ve got to test out a shiny new doomsday weapon _somewhere_ once you get it working, am I right?  That’s a given, I’d think.”

When no one responded quickly enough to that news for his liking, Felix added: “Not only will he get rid of a constant black mark on Above Ground history and your little Resistance movement, but any opposition he has in the Council will think twice about challenging him.”

“Felix!” Locus was apparently losing his patience rather quickly with his partner’s desire to prolong this particular encounter.

Felix glared at him, “You always did like ruining my fun.”

“Your _fun_ tends to sidetrack the mission.” Locus pointed out.

“Oh? And your baiting two Freelancers into fighting you last year didn’t?” Felix was no doubt raising a black eyebrow in disbelief underneath his helmet, “Nice to see how hypocritical you can get when it comes to your perception of being a good little soldier.”

For a second, Locus tensed and Tucker wondered if he was preparing to attack Felix for the insult. But then the mercenary’s head tilted slightly to the side.  It was apparent that he was listening to something over a private channel.

“We’re done here.” Locus suddenly announced, and the finality in his tone was definitely not leaving room for argument this time.

“The second objective was met already?” The orange and steel armored mercenary seemed almost impressed at the revelation, letting out a low whistle, “They work fast.”

Forms materialized further down the tunnel behind Felix, Locus, and their group of mercenaries. One of the newcomers was dressed in a familiar white armor that Tucker had secretly hoped he would never have to see again.

Oddly enough, hovering just above Wyoming’s shoulder this time appeared to be a holographic projection of a miniature human shape, completely sky blue in coloration.

Tucker heard York swear under his breath at the appearance of his former teammate.

“Yes, well, unlike you we weren’t putting on a show of it this time.” Wyoming’s accented voice stated cheerily enough in response to Felix’s comment, “Good performance, by the way.”

“Nice to know _some_ people appreciate the effort.” The freelancer looked pointedly at Locus following that.

The other mercenary growled his impatience, but otherwise seemed to decide it was best to switch tactics and simply ignore Felix.

“Wyoming. Taking a vacation this time of year?” York remarked, “And with Gamma too.  That’s nice.”

The little blue guy had a name? Tucker wondered what the hell was up with that.  The stuff that the Freelancers were familiar with was pretty insane from his view point.

Wyoming glanced at the three former Freelancers then, nodding slightly in way of greeting, “Agents York, Texas, and North Dakota. Cheerio and all that.  No need for this to be terribly awkward.”

“There isn’t?” North stated skeptically, clearly still remembering how the Freelancer had tried killing him the last time they’d met.

Wyoming waved a hand, “Just business. Nothing personal.  Hedging my bets now that Freelancer is all but disbanded.”

There was movement behind Wyoming and the mysterious Gamma, and Wyoming turned to the two other mercenaries of greater import within the group: “Might want to get a move on, then. Even caught off-guard he was difficult to catch.  Had to kill a few fighters too.  Hope they weren’t friends of yours.”

“I’ll live somehow.” Felix smirked, “Wyoming here just paid the base a home visit. Probably best to sweep it for bombs a few times before settling in for the night.”

He looked at Kimball and Sarge pointedly, “Here you thought I was trying to look out for you, Vanessa, by agreeing with Sarge that you should have stayed behind. I was hoping you’d do so because of Wyoming’s planned visit, just to see the look on the crazy old bastard’s face when his attempt to protect his leader failed.”

Sarge glowered, “You sonuva! I knew you were up to no good!”

“I actually do have to give you credit there, Sarge, but it was fun trying to prove you wrong all the same.” Felix laughed, “Am I good actor or what?”

“Act out tasting lead from my shotgun!” Sarge nearly pulled the trigger when he remembered the weapons aimed at everyone and paused.

“Good call.” The mercenary said gleefully, “As much as I’d love to see all of you dead and your corpses vaporized, I _almost_ want you guys to stick around long enough now to see how everything plays out.  Just so you’ll know exactly how badly you failed in the end.”

Felix turned to Tucker then, the gleeful tone still coloring his voice as he addressed him: “Oh, hey, Tucker! You’ll especially _love_ this part.  You see, there was a very specific reason why Wyoming went to pay the base a visit.  Setting up the bombs and taking out fighters was just an added perk.”

At that, Wyoming moved off slightly to the side, revealing one of the other mercenaries who had materialized into focus with the Freelancer earlier. In that man’s arms laid a limp form covered in far too familiar teal armor.

“ _JUNIOR_!”

Tucker had his sword in his hand, the energy blade paving an arc of light through the air as he raced forward before he could even process how stupid that was.

He was barely aware of the others behind him readying to supply cover fire, of the three former Freelancers distracting some of the mercenaries by firing into their midst so that they had to scatter instead of simply pulling their triggers.

Tucker aimed his sword at the mercenary holding his son, and that tunnel vision was the only thing he was currently focused on.

Which was, obviously, not the wisest course of action as he hadn’t been aware of Locus firing at him. If Grif hadn’t pulled him back at the very last second, the strange energy beam from the quiet mercenary’s gun would have gone right through Tucker’s visor.

“Now look who’s being hasty.” Felix scolded Locus, “Hargrove said it would be optimal to keep him alive until the sword can be studied.”

Locus said nothing in response beyond his customary growl, and Tucker pulled away from Grif’s grip to try attacking once more.

“Assholes!” He screamed, “Get the fuck away from my kid!”

“No can do there, Tucker. Sorry.” Their former comrade said in way of mock apology, completely with an _almost_ sad shake of his head, “Hargrove’s orders were _very_ specific.”

Tucker swore at him. Screw Tex and her potential glares of death: Felix would have burst into flame then and there if a thought could have done so.

“But, hey, look on the bright side,” Felix continued to just rub it in, apparently getting a rise out of Tucker’s despair, “Human-alien hybrids are extremely rare and he isn’t planning on dissecting the kid soon as far as _we_ know.”

The fucker was enjoying _this_ , as he couldn’t help but add in following an unintelligible snarl from Tucker: “It’s probably better in the long run if he’s up there given what’s going to happen down here anyways.”

“You…!”

Just a quick leap and the teal-armored soldier could either take Felix out or charge for his son again—

“Charges are set.” The electronic voice of Gamma spoke up, cutting through the charged atmosphere of the room. He was regarding the displays around him with a very analytical eye.

“Good to hear. This was getting a bit too heated.” The white-armored Freelancer titled his head to the side, motioning towards the tunnels that the mercenaries had chased Tex and York out of previously, “Ready whenever you chaps are.”

“Are you done yet?” Locus asked Felix.

By the tone of his voice, it was clear the mercenary thought that his partner should have been done long before. Felix sighed, deflating a little.

“Yeah, I guess.” He muttered reluctantly, “Shame to cut this whole thing off so soon though.”

“Time to get moving then. Don’t want to get caught in the blast.” Wyoming nodded to his former teammates, “There was an explosives sale.  Perhaps bought a bit too much, but they will certainly do the trick.  So sorry to cut the reunion short.”

His polite-sounding statement was quickly followed by Tex shouting out, “ _SHIT! GET DOWN!_ ”

The ground started quaking violently as charges that must have been placed on the floors below and above their current level were detonated. The already unstable ground from Freckles’ explosion bucked and several more cave-in spots opened up, people falling through them and getting buried by the dirt and rock pouring down from above.

Tucker lost his footing and fell, just as he saw a blur of motion as C.T. made her move. She was incredibly close to the mercenary holding Junior.  The Resistance fighter had forgotten up until this instant that her Freelancer specialty had been more for stealth and surveillance than outright combat.

His teammate must have been trying to figure out an opportune moment to catch someone by surprise, but Junior getting thrown into the mix apparently changed her plans to a rescue mission instead.

Felix had apparently been anticipating such an action. Which figured, of course, as he was well-aware of Connecticut’s strengths and had probably put two and two together about her absence way before Tucker had.

Felix was in front of her, blocking both the knife she was aiming to stab his fellow mercenary with and her free hand that had been trying to grab at the tiny alien.

He met her combat knife with his own, apparently keen on the idea of actually having a knife fight for once. The two blades struck together in vicious motions.  The sound of clashing metal drowned out by the tunnel collapses and the explosions still happening at random intervals.

There was an odd shimmer around C.T., and suddenly there were two images of her. Subsequently followed by a third.  It had been awhile since Tucker had seen her utilize her Freelancer armor upgrade that allowed her to project holographic duplicates of herself.

“Pretty desperate to be bringing out the big guns, huh?” Felix was grinning, “Or are you just trying to keep me from figuring out what you’re really going after?”

The three C.T.s converged on him, and the mercenary somehow managed to parry the actual knife strike with one of his own. In a second, the copies dissipated.  Only one C.T. remained.

She raced forward again, swooping down low as if to try a low kick to the back of Felix’s knees.

Suddenly there were three of her again: the one about to kick, another jumping up to bring her knife down on the back of Felix’s neck as he was reacting to her kicking form, and another side-stepping the whole thing entirely.

The last C.T. was making a mad dash past Felix while he was distracted and right towards the jackass holding Junior captive.

Felix ignored the two brown-armored figures bearing down on him, instead stabbing his combat knife upwards and managing to pierce through one of the weaker points in the side of the armor of the C.T. who had been trying to reach Junior.

“Clever, but a bit too predictable.” He stated, as he pulled the knife out while the former Freelancer crumpled to the ground.

He twirled his weapon in the air, the blade covered in blood. The mercenary grabbed the hilt again, this time raising the knife high over his head in preparation to send it through C.T.’s helmet and into her skull.

_Oh, fuck no!_

At that exact moment, before Tucker could attempt to get up again to defend his downed teammate and save his son, a blinding flash of light filled the corridor. It was far too reminiscent of a flash grenade going off to _not_ be one.

Then the Resistance fighter heard the rumbling of one of the last charges going off in the tunnel floor directly underneath where he stood.

His feet were dangling in the air again, though it only took a second for gravity to take its course. Tucker’s world went black momentarily, and his last thought was that he needed to get to C.T.’s prone form and Junior before something even _worse_ happened.

*****

Beyond observing to see if the Chairman’s mercenary team needed a distraction to get away cleanly in order to finish whatever task they had been assigned with, Washington really had no “connection” to whatever plan Hargrove had come up with this time.

He’d always been put on standby up until just a few hours ago, on the off-chance that something might have happened during the “peace talks.” Admittedly, things were always so much more complicated than Hargrove tended to describe them as being, particularly when it came to matters involving questionable “ethics.”

Perhaps Washington should have been more relieved than anything else that he hadn’t been as kept in the loop. Maybe it was a good thing that Hargrove didn’t seem to trust him as completely as he did the others he had working directly and indirectly under him for these sorts of missions.

If Washington did decide that things were going in a direction he could definitely no longer condone, he supposed that would make it easier to just walk away completely.

At the moment, though?

The Freelancer was determined just to find out what exactly was going on now. Especially with alarm bells constantly screaming _“This is bad!”_ in the back of his head with each passing second that he spent in the tunnels.

Doctor Grey showing up like she had certainly complicated matters more. As did the fact that he had been kept in the dark on the entirety of a situation that apparently not only involved the Resistance, but also quite a large number of explosions.

That is if the cacophonic sounds they had been hearing with growing frequency were any indication as they ventured into the offshoot corridors of 32-A and downwards.

The quaking all around them from said explosions was joined by gunfire piercing through the air. That, along with the sound of a familiar voice he knew far too well now than he’d probably ever care to admit _screaming_ had caused Washington’s focus as to what he’d been supposed to do there momentarily slip his mind.

Rounding another corner as the last of the explosions seemed to be detonating, the Freelancer took in the situation.

In the midst of a whole lot chaos he saw Connie getting stabbed from behind by the mercenary named Felix. Hadn’t he been working for the Resistance?  Then again, Washington supposed it would have been right up Hargrove’s alley to set up an agent in the Slums considering how he had been using Wyoming and Washington to get inside information on Freelancer.

Then he saw the ground starting to buckle near where Tucker was standing and, well, his objectivity slipped away even further.

The Above Grounder did still end up serving as a distraction by firing the flash grenade as he did. But, he’d be outright lying to himself if it hadn’t had more to do with getting the mercenaries out of there for reasons beyond whatever mission Hargrove had given them.

Fortunately, the mercenary group didn’t apparently look a gift horse in the mouth regardless of the _actual_ reason their backup had done it.  They activated their stealth armor upgrades, and Washington made a mental note that he hadn’t received one of those yet.

Only the steel and green armored mercenary known as Locus cast a curious glance around the area to try to find out where the assistance had come from before the mercenaries continued on with their escape.

It really didn’t matter to Washington either way if they ever found out who launched the flash grenade or not. Hargrove made those sorts of decisions, not him.

Before they’d totally vanished, Washington was surprised to note that the small, unconscious form that C.T. had been trying to get to before Felix had taken her out appeared to be a miniature alien judging by the skin coloration and appendages.

A rare sight to see now given that it was largely believed that the aliens who had crash-landed on the planet had been killed off. Did its size mean that it wasn’t full-grown yet?

The blonde frowned. He would definitely need clarification on exactly what the fuck was going on here later.

Washington and his rather surprisingly quiet on the trip down here companion had first ducked into an alcove far enough away from the fight. From this vantage point he waited to ensure that there were no stragglers from the mercenaries hoping to take advantage of the confusion.

It was always better to only step into something when you knew you weren’t in for nasty surprises, no matter how much he wanted to just race out to make sure his friends ( _odd to call them that now, given everything_ ) were all right.

He was caught off-guard, however, by Doctor Grey suddenly racing past him. Not only had she apparently been far enough behind him to avoid getting blinded earlier, but she also was not as up to code on common sense when it came to potentially hostile situations.

Then again, there appeared to be a very valid reason as to why she acted that way. It was stemming from the fact that, for all of her craziness and eccentricities, she was first and foremost a doctor.

“ _MOVE!”_ She shouted authoritatively at Donut, North, and a red-armored Resistance fighter Washington had never seen before, pushing past them as they crowded around C.T. to assess how bad her wound was.

Luckily, the brown-armored soldier had just avoided falling into one of the new recesses in the ground after getting stabbed. That would have made treating what already appeared to be a potentially serious wound all the more difficult.

“Doctor Grey?” Donut looked at the dark-haired woman in bewilderment as she bent over C.T., “What are you doing here?”

“Hopefully keeping her from bleeding out!” She stated tersely as her focus was entirely on the former Freelancer.

Doctor Grey ran her diagnostics tool over C.T.’s injury, the hole gushing crimson onto his childhood friend’s armor and all over the floor.

North, in his confusion over the sudden appearance of an Above Ground doctor, glanced up. He caught sight of Washington, who had decided it was probably best to take his cue from the doctor at that point and reveal himself.

The Freelancer also felt like he needed to know how badly C.T. had been hurt too, and how bad everything for the last couple of hours had been down here.

“Wash?” North asked, looking even more confused at the sight of the younger man.

The confusion only lasted a second or so, before realization clicked within the sniper: “Were you the one who used the flash grenade just now?”

Washington could only nod in response, his tongue suddenly feeling like lead in his mouth as he took in the situation.

C.T. was possibly bleeding out before him on the ground. Caboose was huddled over a gaping hole that still had smoke rising from it looking impossibly small for his larger stature.  The last he’d seen of Tucker, the younger man had disappeared through a caved-in spot in the tunnel floor.

Who knew how many other Resistance fighters were lying around possibly injured or killed?

Hopefully Tucker had pulled himself out already. The Freelancer was subconsciously trying to scan the area for any sign of teal when out of the corner of his eye he saw Tex walking purposefully towards him.  Her hand was already forming a tight fist that he knew was just seconds away from probably slamming into his skull.  Or worse.

It was Tucker, flying out of nowhere, who literally ended up beating her to the punch.

Washington stumbled back at the force of the blow on his helmet. The blonde was surprised at the fact that Tucker had not only managed to catch him completely off-guard this time, but also by the fact that even with his helmet on the blow had actually _hurt_.

“You fucker!” Tucker sounded both enraged and as if he was about to burst into tears in any second, “You were in on this?!?”

*****

The last of the bulkheads sealed shut behind them with an audible whirring noise. Leonard Church couldn’t help the small sigh of relief at being out in open air again with a sky overhead.

He couldn’t _stand_ dark and confined spaces, and the tunnels leading back to Above Ground were even _worse_ than the Slums themselves.  At least there was more space in the Slums proper and the lighting was a whole lot better for the most part.

Plus, as shitty as the barracks were back at the Mother of Invention, he didn’t have to share a room with Doc there which was all sorts of wonderful for his continued sanity.

“Glad to be back?” Carolina asked, clearly amused by her cousin’s reaction.

It was the first time she had spoken without tension this whole time, and Church couldn’t help but try to go along with it.

“Oh, yeah. Even getting woken up that goddamn early to leave without any warning or reasoning whatsoever was great since we actually _got_ to fucking leave.” He grinned, “I’m in such a good mood I won’t even bitch about that first part.”

“Must be my lucky day then.” Carolina replied sarcastically, before glancing over at the three forms sulking behind them, “Your teammates don’t seem to share your enthusiasm though.”

Church turned to look at his dejected teammates, their despondence plainly visible in their body languages even with their armor and helmets on. He frowned at the sight.

“Yeah, well, they’re just upset that their love dramas had to end so abruptly.” He told her, trying to downplay the whole thing.

“Love dramas?” She raised a red eyebrow questioningly at the phrasing.

Which he promptly responded to by rolling his blue eyes: “ _Please_ don’t make me relive all of that bullshit again.”

Doc had definitely been disappointed at having to leave so soon after “befriending” Donut, but he was arguably still handling it better than either Sheila or Simmons were. That was probably on account of how Doc liked trying to be cheerful for the sake of those around him no matter how he was feeling personally, though Church had a sneaking suspicion the purple medic would be trying out a new banana nut bread recipe ( _with more nuts!_ ) and forcing all of them to eat it soon enough.

Sheila, though outwardly acting the same when directly spoken to, had been noticeably more withdrawn on the way back. She only really responded in her usual polite manner when addressed by someone else.

Church swore he had heard her _humming_ a song that sounded suspiciously like the one Lopez had actually done a surprisingly-not-so-bad-job singing at the “Randy Offering” earlier.  He just _knew_ he would have to be the one to explain _that_ to the technicians that did maintenance on her later.

But Simmons had been by far the worst. The cybernetic nerd had been more than just a little flustered upon returning very late to the hotel.  A snide remark from a certain goateed and very sexually attractive teammate about walks of shame caused the poor guy to turn so red in the face that even Church didn’t have the heart to joke about it further.  Having to leave so quickly had apparently left the redhead very much down in the dumps.

He looked as if someone had given him a puppy, promptly taken it away from him, and then made him watch as they punted it the length of a swimming pool. Church didn’t really know where his teammate stood on puppies though seeing as how kittens and puppies usually led to talks about emotions in general, and Church tended to avoid that topic with a ten-meter pole.

So, given that Simmons was a geek, take that same scenario but replace the puppy with a datapad that revealed all of the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

Church sighed, really hoping that he could avoid having anymore horribly awkward and uncomfortable “feelings” talks with anyone.

After all, it wasn’t like he was an expert on any of that shit himself.

He glanced over at his cousin. He admitted that he was curious about their sudden departure from the Slums.  Not because he was in any way disappointed that he couldn’t hang out with those Resistance losers ( _and certainly not because of Tex, damn it!_ ), but because it had been so against routine.

Fuck, he wasn’t even sure if Carolina had filed a goddamned _report_ before she had pulled them out like she did, and she sort of had a stick up her ass about maintaining proper protocol.

The Freelancer hadn’t even so much as explained _why_ they were leaving in such a hurry.

“Not that I _want_ to get involved in whatever bullshit you’ve been poking your nose into,” Church said in as conversational a tone as he could muster, “But something must have happened, right?”

The redhead stiffened abruptly at his question, whatever lightly teasing moment they had been experiencing before ending there, “That’s not for you to know, Church.”

Well, _that_ was a pretty good confirmation that something had happened.

A figure in orchid armor with green trim approached them just then. They had picked one of the entrances to Above Ground that was more or less deserted by the general populace, just to avoid the questioning looks a group of armored soldiers would undoubtedly have received at this time of day.

“Odd time to ask for a pickup.” Agent South Dakota stated in lieu of a greeting, nodding to the transport waiting behind her.

Carolina looked surprised at her appearance, “You’re helping Four Seven Niner?”

The other woman scoffed, a bitter note cropping into her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Might as well when you’ve been left out of the loop. _Again._ ”

There was a sudden tenseness in the air following that remark. The two Freelancer agents seemed to be trying to stare one another down, and Church had the distinct feeling that this was a conversation he _really_ didn’t want to be anywhere near.

He turned to see what his team was up to instead, and watched as Sheila and Doc discussed something with Simmons in hushed tones. From the way the redhead was reacting with his arms moving frantically at his sides and the odd bursts of sputtering Church was able to pick up on, the cobalt-armored soldier surmised that the group was distracting themselves by talking about whatever had happened between him and that fat-ass Grif after they’d left the bar.

The Above Grounder wasn’t really sure he wanted to be anywhere near that conversation either.

Whatever exactly had happened in the Slums or the tunnels that had caused Carolina to want to move them out of there so quickly even before the fake peace talks were officially over? He imagined word would spread up here eventually, and _any_ lighthearted moods over good memories that his teammates had would probably dissipate quickly.

_Goddamn it._

He couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh. Church honestly wasn’t sure if the team knowing now would be better in the long run or not.

Why did things always have to be so fucking complicated?

Carolina rejoined him then, “Better get them ready, Church.” She informed him, motioning towards his teammates, “South isn’t exactly in the best waiting mood.”

From the edge in his cousin’s voice, it didn’t seem as if she was either.

He shook his head, “You almost sound like Allison when you say things like that.”

It was one of those things he would sometimes think, but he _never_ said out loud largely because he didn’t want to get the shit beaten out of him.  For some reason, maybe due to all of the weird stress of this whole bizarre situation, Church had just gone and blurted it out to a Carolina who seemed equally as stressed and annoyed.

He froze, waiting for the blow-out and silently praying that the end was swift and relatively painless.

Instead of turning his face into so much unrecognizable pulp though, Carolina was staring at him with what appeared to be unmasked shock. Her body language was even more rigid than before, which he hadn’t even thought was humanly possible.

“C—Carolina?”

She was freaking him the fuck out, all things considered.

“Who?” When she finally responded, it was barely a whisper.

Church panicked. She was just having a delayed reaction to what he’d said, it seemed.  _This is it. This is when I die_.

“Sorry, you—you sound _nothing_ like Tex.  At all. _Ever_.”

He braced for the impact, already wincing.

“You were talking about Texas?”

Okay, this whole “confused” bit was really just her playing with him, right? Of course she knew he’d meant Tex!  Who else could he have been talking about?

“Carolina, if you’re going to kill me, just make it quick.” He motioned towards his teammates, “Also, maybe take them out too so I don’t have to die alone.”

Church was fairly certain that was probably not something they told you to do in “Best Leader” handouts, but fuck it! If he was going to die, why should they get off scot-free?  They’d probably think having him not being around would be a vacation.  The assholes!

Then again, were they really the people he’d want to spend eternity with? Rooming with Doc for just a couple of days had made him want to pull his hair out or ram his head into a wall.

Shit! He better rethink that request quick.

Carolina just stared at Church as if she wasn’t really looking at him for a few more minutes before promptly turning around and stalking off towards the transport without saying anything. He noticed that there was a troubled expression looming in her green eyes.

South even shot him a “ _What-the-fuck-did-you-do?_ ” look out of the corner of his eye after the Freelancer leader moved past her.  Apparently the sudden change in the cyan-armored agent’s demeanor was something she’d noticed as well.

What had _he_ done?  The fuck if he knew!

This whole thing was way too tense for his tastes. Unfortunately, Church had a suspicion that things would only get a shitload worse for everyone from this point on.

_Whoop-de-fucking-doo._

*****

“How is he doing?” North asked in his customarily soft voice.

Grif stiffened slightly at the intrusion into his thoughts from where he was sitting on the rubble-strewn ground.

The purple-armored former Freelancer had been talking to Tex and York earlier, before checking up on Kimball and Sarge as they had made their way through the ranks and collected progress reports.

Good-ish news? The bombs back at base hadn’t exploded along with these other ones so they were probably on timers set for later.  Bad-ish news?  There were lesser guards there now thanks to Wyoming to go around finding them before they _did_ detonate.

The orange-armored soldier had to give it to Kimball: she was taking the betrayal pretty well all things considered. Though that was probably more due to how so many other things took priority right now.  No doubt it would hit her harder than she would care to admit later on given how much she had ended up trusting Felix.

To his credit as well, Sarge wasn’t even being remotely smug about how his feelings in regards to Felix had been proven justified. No, if anything, he seemed angrier and regretful that they had ended up turning out to be true.

Currently, the Red Team leader seemed to think it was best to just act as support for Kimball, which was good.

It seemed as if North was making his own rounds now, trying to check up on everyone who seemed worse for wear. The blonde always did seem to look out for others.

He was probably only asking Grif because he was better off than some of the others who might still not be up to talking just yet. The Slums dweller seemed to be okay beyond his initial weirdness immediately following when Freckles had exploded, and his subsequent shock and anger following Felix’s betrayal.  Which was pretty par the course for everyone who had been there, truthfully.

Hell, Grif had even managed to keep his freak-out over the later explosions down to a minimum which was actually sort of impressive given how he usually responded to explosions and fire now.

“Which one?” The tan man asked North quietly for elaboration’s sake as he glanced to either side of him.

To his left, still squatting by the hole that most of Freckles’ metal frame had fallen into sat Caboose, looking for all the world as if his entire universe had just collapsed in on itself. Perhaps it had, in a way.  He had definitely been attached to Freckles, after all.  Caboose was the sort who wore his heart on his sleeve all the time.

Donut was sitting with him, with Lopez off to the side. Whether or not the robot was actually trying to offer some kind of support, or just hadn’t been sure of where else to sit in the crowded and heavily damaged space they were now in, who could say?  It didn’t seem like Donut’s friendly concern was getting through to the blue-armored blonde at all right now.

To Grif’s right, Tucker was in much the same position, though his dark eyes were glued to the prone form of his teammate C.T. as the crazy Above Ground doctor continued treating her stab wound.

He could only guess what was going through Tucker’s mind because of what had happened, and none of Grif’s guesses were either pretty or nice.

“It might be better just to ask them directly later.” He muttered to North when the sniper didn’t respond to his question.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” The former Freelancer let out a soft sigh, pale blue eyes glancing downward at the top of Grif’s head, “How about you?”

He shrugged, “I’ll live, so long as Sarge doesn’t shoot me for whatever insane reason he might come up with later.”

There was a long stretch of silence that followed. Since North didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry to leave, Grif finally worked up the nerve to ask him a question he had been debating about asking for a while now.

He figured that since North had been a Freelancer, the odds were good he could give him a better answer than most.

“So,” he frowned, staring up at North expectantly to get his attention, “Think we can trust that Washington guy?”

_It had taken quite a long time to get Tucker to calm down following his punching of Washington. Even Tex, livid enough at what she suspected Washington’s involvement in what had happened here was, seemed caught off-guard by the dark-skinned man’s wholly sympathetic outburst._

_The Resistance fighter did do so, eventually, and now he was simply alternating between glaring at Washington and glaring around at the chaotic aftermath all around them. His eyes fluctuating from anger to pain to concern every few seconds._

_“Y…your kid?” Washington was sputtering for what was probably the eleventh time after they’d explained exactly what had happened, “That alien I saw was Junior?”_

_His face turned weirdly red as the Freelancer seemed to glance over Tucker more carefully, “H—how is that even…?”_

_“Dude, this is not the time for you to be having a fucking freak-out.” Tucker cut him off, going from being angry at Washington to exasperated at how awkward he’d become over the reveal about Junior, “Let’s just leave it at that’s it’s a really long story and I am_ not _showing you the scars.”_

That _shut Washington up, though the blush on his face seemed to get oddly darker for some reason._

 _“So you didn’t have_ any _idea that they were going after Junior or a doomsday relic?” York asked his former teammate, sounding strained._

_They had gathered in a group around Washington to keep Tucker and Tex from killing the Freelancer since, technically speaking, he had actually helped to at least save C.T.’s life even if the mercenaries had escaped during his distraction. They also wanted to figure out exactly what the Above Grounder knew about what had happened._

_Only Donut had opted not to sit in on the questioning, wanting to keep an eye out on both Caboose still and be at the ready in case Doctor Grey needed any help with C.T. Every once in a while though, Grif caught him glancing over in their direction with a questioning look on his face.  No doubt his pink-armored teammate would be asking him a ton of questions later._

_Washington glanced at the assembled Resistance fighters somewhat apologetically, “No, I didn’t.”_

_He glanced over at C.T.’s unconscious form and very pale face, and then directly into Tucker’s angry one, “Believe me.”_

_Tucker snorted and broke eye contact, but he didn’t say anything. Grif knew that meant he was trying to go over all of the details in his head to make a judgment call on the Freelancer in the steel and yellow armor from their past encounters._

_The other man sighed, resignation creeping into his gray eyes._

_“Well, you don’t have to. At all.” He stated, “I…probably wouldn’t either, in your shoes.”_

_“No shit.” Sarge muttered bitterly._

_“Right. Because you’re fucking paranoid.” Tucker noted._

_It seemed like he was trying to make an inside joke, but his voice couldn’t quite muster up the teasing tone he usually put into those._

_Washington smiled sadly, “Exactly.”_

_It was a little moment, if nothing else. Maybe something was said in that exchange that meant more to Tucker and Washington than to any of the people around them who didn’t get the reference.  Tucker certainly seemed a lot less likely to haul off and hit the guy following that._

_“But, you were working for Hargrove knowing what he’s capable of?” Tex countered, trying to throw another viewpoint into the debate, “You certainly do seem to like burying your head, Washington.”_

_Washington frowned, “I’ve made plenty of bad choices in my life, Tex. You should know that better than most.” He sighed, glancing over their heads for a moment, “There was a time when I thought that Chairman Hargrove was the lesser of two evils.”_

_The other three Freelancers shared a look at this remark. Apparently what Washington had just said was a sentiment that they at least had a partial understanding of._

_“He’s been keeping me more and more out of the loop and I’ve…had doubts recently, yes. Very large ones.” The blonde focused on each of their faces in turn, as if trying to drive his next point home as best he could, “I wouldn’t have agreed to any of this, though.”_

_The last person he set his gaze on was Tucker, who stared directly back at him for several tense moments. Eventually though, the swordsman nodded._

_“Yeah. You can be a major dick, but you wouldn’t be eager to blow up the Slums.” He told Washington, glancing in C.T.’s direction as well with a frown, “Or see a friend get killed.  Especially not one you’ve already looked out for in the past.”_

_It seemed as if Tucker’s confirmation put Washington more at ease, and he even looked oddly_ relieved _. It was probably the most open expression anyone there had seen on the usually very guarded Above Grounder in a long time._

_Grif noted in particular that while York and North seemed almost thankful to see that expression on the Freelancer’s face, there was an almost oddly surprised look on Tucker’s face. It was like he’d just seen something that was truly rare and awe-inspiring._

_The expression quickly went back to Washington’s usual closed-off look, and the Freelancer let out a heavy breath._

_“I need to head back.”_

_Tucker’s face quickly morphed into an angry mask again, his frustration clearly evident as he started to yell, “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re still going to_ work _with those assholes after this?”_

_Washington didn’t even slightly react to the outburst as he countered matter-of-factly, “If I don’t report in, it will look suspicious.”_

_For the first time since this exchange started, Tex actually agreed with Washington’s assessment: “Besides, we’ll need all of the help we can get tracking down that relic now that it is somewhere in Above Ground.”_

_He nodded, “I’ll…keep on the lookout for Junior now too.” He promised Tucker, “You’ll need someone with inside connections to track either one of them down.”_

_Before Tucker could even respond, Washington turned again in the direction of C.T. and Doctor Grey._

_“I hate to do this given everything, but I’ll have to leave the doctor here.” He stated, “She’s seen too much and Hargrove won’t tolerate loose ends.”_

_“We always have use for a doctor.” York assured him, “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure she’s okay.”_

_Washington nodded, “Thank you. She’s eccentric, but…she does seem like she wants to help.”_

_“She’s already made herself more than welcome by fixing up C.T.” Sarge said, looking gratefully at the two, “It would have been a lot dicier if she hadn’t stepped up to the plate like she did.”_

_That was pretty much the end of the conversation, it seemed. Washington said a quiet goodbye to the former Freelancers in their midst, before looking over at Tucker once more.  He seemed to be debating something inwardly for a few seconds then, before hesitantly speaking to the Resistance fighter._

_“Junior will be fine. Just…don’t do anything stupid in the meanwhile, Tucker.”_

_Tucker rolled his eyes at that, “You better follow your own advice, you fucking idiot.”_

“I think so.” North responded at length, reassuringly, “Washington’s been through a lot, but he has a good heart.”

For some reason, that remark almost brought up an image of Simmons in Grif’s brain, but he pushed it aside quickly.

“Well, if both you and Tucker are going to vouch for him, I guess I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt too.”

After all, they didn’t have much to lose at this point, right? Either Washington ended up helping them or he didn’t.  That was all there was to it.

North smiled softly and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before heading off.

Fortunately, or unfortunately as Grif honestly couldn’t tell if being alone with his thoughts or being distracted from them was better, Donut took the former Freelancer’s place a few moments later.

“Hey, Grif. Guess what?” His younger teammate asked him, a rather relieved look flooding his features, “Sarge said he might at least be able to salvage Freckles’ V.I.!”

Grif raised an eyebrow, “And do what with it, exactly? Make Lopez a brother?  Lopez 2.0?”

From farther away, Lopez glanced up at the mention of his name in the conversation.

“Con tal de que él no se vuelve un total de polla y yo soy el guapo.” _{“Just so long as he doesn't come back a total dick and I'm the handsome one.”}_

Donut frowned, looking thoughtful, “He’s not really sure yet, and maybe he’s just saying that he can do it to help make Caboose feel a little better. But, that’s still good, right?”

The dirty blonde had a look on his face that reminded Grif of the times when Kaikaina had come to him when they were younger, scared and unsure about something but too afraid to directly talk about whatever was really troubling her.

The tan-skinned man let out a tired sigh, his tone taking on the same soft inflection it used to do in those exact instances, “Yeah, Donut. It is.”

Donut smiled sadly, “At least that’s one nice thing to happen. Oh, but Doctor Grey being here to help C.T. was great too!” He tried clarifying, horribly awkward in the attempt, “I mean, with everything else that happened: the explosions, Junior, possibly getting killed off pretty soon—”

“It’s probably best to think on the nicer things then, Donut.” Grif advised him.

He nodded, “Right! I’m trying anyways.”

“Good.”

There was a pause, and the orange-armored soldier closed his eyes for a moment. The temptation to simply nap and recharge was getting harder and harder to ignore seeing as how it was pretty much his stress relief.

“What do you think is going to happen now?” Donut asked quietly, the fear and anxiety back on his face as he stared around them at the wreckage.

“Hell if I know.” Grif shrugged, “But we’ll get through.”

“There’s nothing we can’t do with a little hard work and effort, right?” Donut tried smiling.

Grif couldn’t help but roll his eyes, though a sort of half-smile crossed his face all the same, “Er…sure, Donut. Something like that.  Only a lot less cheesy and vomit-inducing.  So anything else, really.”

If his younger teammate heard his ribbing, he didn’t respond to it. It seemed he was already thinking about something else as another worried look had crossed over his features, “I really hope that Doc and the others aren’t stuck in the middle of this.”

Grif said nothing. Truthfully, leave it to Donut to pick up on the one topic that Grif was actively trying very hard _not_ to think of right now.  For one very specific reason in particular.

Realizing that Donut was waiting for reassurance though due to the mention of Doc ( _sometimes he was like a having a second even girlier little sister!_ ), Grif replied truthfully: “Hopefully not.”

The Resistance fighter then tried to avoid picturing the one person beyond his sister that he really wanted to check up on at that moment in person, even though he knew he couldn’t and it sucked.

“Oh, I forgot to mention it earlier, but Kimball said that she got into contact with the lieutenants. She’s having them hold off going back to the base until it is secure and the bombs are cleared out.” Donut seemed to decide it was time to return the favor since Grif had been more patient than he usually was in talking with him, giving a reassuring sort of smile at the news about the younger recruits.

Grif almost sighed in relief. At least Kai was safe.  He wondered how much Kimball had told them about what had happened.  He was already trying to imagine how exactly to tell Kai about Junior in particular.

The relic was definitely a big issue, of course, and certainly more Top Priority in the grand scheme of things. But, it was also farther away, a distant kind of threat since it was a strange object none of them had any familiarity with.

Either they destroyed it, or it would be used to kill all of them. That was all it really boiled down to.

But Junior was a kid that Kaikaina sometimes babysat, who she considered part of her oddball extended family. Truthfully, Grif was dreading telling her about his kidnapping more.

He couldn’t imagine she would take it well.

After Donut wandered off, Grif actually did sigh as he realized there was no point in really thinking about that conversation now until the two siblings were back face-to-face. After all, it was the only way to really have those types of conversations.

Instead, the orange-armored soldier got up and walked an extra few feet to only then plop down on the ground again next to Tucker.

His friend didn’t even seem to register his presence, his eyes glued on C.T.’s still unconscious body.

“She tried saving him.” He said finally, still not directly looking at Grif, “And Felix stabbed her.”

Grif said nothing. It felt like one of those instances where he probably just needed to let Tucker vent.

“I was kind of an ass to her when she first joined Blue Team, you know?” His friend frowned, “And somehow I think she just got elevated to Best Babysitter in one fucking night.”

“She’s a Freelancer. Stab wounds probably just make her come back stronger and angrier.” Grif remarked, trying to mix a little assurance with some good old-fashioned humor.

“Man, how many times do you think Tex got stabbed then?”

It seemed to work, going by Tucker’s own humorous quip in response. At least a little bit.

“Probably too many times to count.”

Tucker gave a small smile at the orange-armored fighter’s joke, though it didn’t reach his eyes in the slightest.

“She’s going to be _fine_ , Tucker.” Grif decided for his next attempt to go with a direct approach as they watched Doctor Grey once again running the diagnostic tool over her patient, “And we’re going to get Junior back.”

Tucker’s response was quick and emphatic, “We better.”

There was nothing else really to say. Grif simply sat there with his friend, and tried unsuccessfully to not think about anything for a while.

He tried not to think about Junior, or C.T., or Caboose, or Freckles, or Tucker, or Kai, or Simmons. Or about how _everything_ had just gotten about fifty times more fucked up than it had been before.

Whatever was going to happen next was going to majorly _suck_ if this was just a precursor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** I am so, so, SO sorry that this chapter is later than I intended it to be. I struggled majorly with parts of it, and real life in October just kicked my butt all over the place which made having the time for writing even scarcer. I’m really sorry that I wasn’t able to post this until now. I’ll try to get the next chapters out in my normal timeframe as best as I can!
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> Lots of things happened in this chapter, which pretty much just serves as a set-up for REALLY big things still to come. Finally did my really obvious plot reveal with Felix (orz, actually, I had a lot of fun writing his lines after that! XD), and put quite a few of the characters through the ringer in this one (which I hate doing, but…story purposes!). 0_0;
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> Not a ton of Grimmons in this chapter which I apologize for as well. I do have a ton of things planned for them later though, don’t worry! There will be Grimmons aplenty in this fic when all is said and done, given how it is one of the main focuses of the story and I particularly love writing their scenes. :) Along with plot things for all of the other pairings too because they are fun to write as well, of course! :D
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> So, I apologize again for the lateness and I hope this chapter was at least a little enjoyable despite my struggles with it. Things will start getting more intense in the next parts! Thank you for reading! :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Eighteen:

If there was one thing Leonard Church was getting fucking tired of, it was probably everyone keeping secrets from him.

He realized that probably made him seem like one of the world’s biggest hypocrites given his usual outlook on life.  _Don’t know, don’t care.  If knowing was going to make everything a shitload worse than it was better just to stay ignorant._

In reality though?  There were only so many secrets, so many _things_ , that someone could intentionally keep another person in the dark on before they broke.  One could really only take so much, honestly.

Normally, the Above Grounder had a pretty high threshold for that sort of thing.  When an individual was indirectly involved in something like Project Freelancer, you kind of had to have a good tolerance for other people keeping secrets from you in order to stay sane.  Hell, look at how that whole thing had imploded!

Besides, it was more or less a survival instinct when your cousin was Agent Carolina and your on-and-off-and-how-do-you-even-classify-this-again girlfriend was the defected Agent Texas.  Also, pretty much given all of the questionable things the military Church was signed up for was involved in?  Well, secrets were sort of a given there too.

In hindsight, there were a lot of things that if the dark-haired soldier really reflected back on he probably should have questioned more from the very beginning.

For starters, maybe he should be trying to think more about his past.  Church still couldn’t quite get there yet though, it was the one thing he could almost describe himself as being afraid to do and he didn’t know _the fuck why_ that was to begin with.

Perhaps he should have looked more into Captain Flowers’ death than just taking the report at face value.  Maybe he should have asked why Tex and those other two Freelancers defected, or why it seemed like his entire team had been set up on that “repair” mission a while back.  Or why four months ago that whole stupid peace talk fiasco had occurred, and why there seemed to be a sense of “wrongness” in the air following it.

He was even fairly certain he was seeing some oh-so-fucking-familiar green and steel armored assholes milling about sometimes at the Mother of Invention.  Mercenaries shooting the breeze there didn’t exactly seem to add up, so maybe he should have looked into that deeper too.

But, Church hadn’t done any of those things.  If he was being honest, a part of him really did not want to start doing them now either.

Some things you were just better off not knowing, especially if it meant you’d have to start questioning practically _everything_ in your life afterwards.  Because, really, who had the time to deal with that sort of shit when you were interacting with assholes all the time?

Unfortunately, though, there usually came a point where you had to stop avoiding things.  He was fairly certain he had now just crossed that point of no return.

“What do you mean they don’t want me knowing where this new facility is, Sheila?” Church asked, trying to process the information his teammate had just told him.

Sheila was probably the closest thing he had to a friend really, which was a bit sad when you really thought about it so he didn’t.

Sheila certainly made him wonder if robots were actually capable of emotions and bonds the same way that people were.  Hell, it appeared as if she had just shifted uncomfortably in the seat across from Church at his question.

Even more than usual, he was rather glad that Doc was out doing his yoga somewhere not in his general vicinity and that Simmons was off doing something probably nerdy somewhere else too.  Last thing he needed was for the two of them to add even more stress to this bizarre conversation in his room in the barracks that he was having with their robotic teammate.

“Precisely that, Church.” Sheila stated.

Fuck.  He was pretty sure there was a tremor of unease in her usually always calm and pleasant-sounding voice, which did not bode well as she continued: “I have been ordered to not disclose the location of the new facility where my maintenance check-ups will be taking place to anyone.  More than that, I _cannot_.”

He put what she really meant then together fairly quickly, “They put a block on you.”

Sheila nodded again, and he wondered if she had an actual face under that helmet if she would have been giving him an unsure look, “I do not understand why, Church.  My maintenance has always been rather routine.  Do they think I am not performing to the best of my programming?”

If they did, then they were assholes who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.  The cobalt-armored soldier was fairly certain she was by far the most efficient member of their entire oddball team.  Which probably said more about the lack of ability of pretty much everyone else on it than anything else, really.

…Though, Sheila’s maintenance had always been considered low-level classified, now that he thought about it.

He knew she went through them, same as Simmons did for his cyborg shit after the surgery, but what exactly they were for?  He’d never really known.

Church had always assumed they were for basic stuff.  He imagined that Above Ground would be interested in maintaining a more expensive piece of tech such as Sheila, so he’d never really given her maintenance much thought.  Sheila usually couldn’t say much on them either beyond the more routine stuff as she was apparently put off-line for a portion of them anyways.

At the moment, his teammate seemed worried enough as it was without him vocalizing his wandering thoughts.  Fuck it!  There was something about seeing that that just made him not want to make the situation worse.

Instead, the Above Grounder shook his head, “I wouldn’t think so.  You’ve been as fucking awesome as ever, Sheila.”

“That is good to know.” She seemed to relax somewhat, the pleasantness becoming dominant in her voice again, “Thank you, Church.”

“Even if that was the case, it doesn’t explain the sudden change of location from the base.  Or why they would have put a block on you for it.” He frowned, “Something doesn’t add up.”

“It is very peculiar.” She tilted her head slightly, contemplating.

Maybe they were thinking of transferring her Virtual Intelligence back into a tank again, or possibly something else?  While it was still very hush-hush, it seemed as if _something_ was getting ready to go down in the war effort against the Slums.

He’d just been trying to actively avoid thinking on it too much since nothing was being said to the main troops yet, especially since his teammates seemed well aware of it too and it was putting all of them in an odd, mopey mood.

The dark-haired soldier was honestly surprised that Sheila was the first person to come to him with a concern, but given how it was a more direct one it made sense.  He had been dreading having some kind of “feelings” talk with either Doc or Simmons for a while. 

Council and higher-up military business could go on for quite some time in the shadows before it saw the light of day elsewhere in the army, Project Freelancer in a lot of ways was a strong testament to that as well.  But, it seemed as if they were now directly involving a teammate of his and they were trying very hard to not tell anyone about it.  That didn’t sit too well with Church.

For one thing, he was fairly certain that the only reason he had some level of sanity at all in dealing with his human teammates was because Sheila was around to balance them out with a measure of common sense and logic.

More than that, the two of them had been together for as long as he could remember.  Even before he had been recruited by Flowers.

If the Above Ground higher-ups were going to involve her in some kind of jackass operation, they sure as fuck should inform her about it.  They should inform her teammates too!  That was just common decency, regardless of her being “just a robot” or “military property” or whatever other type of bullshit they probably used to justify messing around with her programming.

Against his better judgment, Church made a mental list of people he could possibly get answers from about was going on.

Carolina he scratched off of said list immediately.  Because, you know, he really kind of wanted to keep living, when all was said and done.

The redhead had been even _more_ secretive as of late, and more snappish too.  Half the time, she wasn’t even around anymore.  When she was around, he’d occasionally find her staring at him with an odd look on her face as if she was trying to place him.

Truthfully, it was more than just a little unnerving coming from his cousin. 

There was one of other person he could possibly ask who might, _might_ give him some answers depending on his mood.  Church was going to at least try to find something out from him, even if Agent Washington wasn’t his favorite person in the whole wide world, and vice-versa.

It was about time for some asshole to tell him what was up instead of always keeping him in the dark.

*****

 _“…So, as you are no doubt readily aware by now, I regret to inform you that there is no longer anything to gain by continuing these charades at diplomacy.”_ The voice speaking through the terminal was as pompous and sure of itself as ever, _“Though I am sure this will not be the final time soldiers will be seen down here, the next time it will be under harsher circumstances.  I am quite certain that is the only appropriate stance for Above Ground to take in regards to the continued hostilities between our two groups.”_

She had to give the Above Ground bastard credit there: he was a consummate actor when it came to playing the part of an aggrieved negotiator.  No doubt such skill had served Malcolm Hargrove well when he was consolidating power within the Council, just as much as his very well-concealed ruthlessness and intelligence had.

 _“Until then, Vanessa Kimball.”_ He carried on in the recording as if the one-sided conversation was about something as mundane as the weather instead of on canceling the “peace talks” he himself had forced with a goal in mind that was far less savory than peace, _“I would have stayed to have delivered this announcement in person, but I imagine you and your cohorts are too preoccupied with other matters currently to fully appreciate the sentiment.”_

Matters like a comrade’s betrayal, a kidnapping, the theft of an ancient alien artifact, _and_ having to dig themselves out of miles of collapsed tunnel.  She couldn’t help the snort that escaped from her throat at how nonchalant he worded the last part of the message.

Would he brag about it all in the end, like Felix had?  It certainly sounded like he had been holding back from doing so already from the tone of his voice in the recording.

Or would he just order them dead with a nod to a subordinate who was holding a hand over a switch that would seal the fate of everyone in the Slums once he figured out how to get his weapon running?  Would there not even be a passing thought running through his mind about how many he would be killing?

Kimball felt her hands clench tightly into fists once more.  The journal entry she had been delaying was all but forgotten.  It was getting harder to keep her tradition going, even as she felt that in this dragging on situation she needed the cathartic release an entry usually provided her.

In the background, the final recording from Chairman Hargrove looped back to its beginning again.  It had been sent a mere _hour_ after Felix and the other mercenaries left.  A mere _hour_ after the Council representatives had discreetly departed from Level One.

“Okay, I think having heard that message _once_ the whole way through would have driven me crazy.” North’s voice spoke up from the doorway, only slightly joking, “This makes for how many times now that you’ve had it on repeat, exactly?”

The former Freelancer wasn’t trying to ridicule or criticize her with the remark.  She could see the genuine curiosity and concern plastered all over his features when she glanced up from staring unseeingly at her desk towards him.

The Resistance leader sighed in response, “Do you want the number from just this week or the ones from before too?”

“It’s been nearly four months, Kimball.” The blonde stated it softly, as if trying to cushion some blow.

He most likely was, now that she thought of it.  Reminding anyone of how much time had passed since the incident, of how beyond picking themselves up and trying to prepare for what was to come, they knew next to _nothing_ yet about what kind of attack to expect?

It was akin to pouring salt on a very much open, very much still raw and pussing wound.

“Three months and three-point-five weeks.  If you want to get technical.”

She was surprised that she managed to make a wry comment, all things considered.  She waved a hand through the air and the recorded message, along with her still blank log entry, halted abruptly as her terminal cut off.

“The point-five thing is maybe a bit too exact for my taste.” He replied back

Kimball raised a black eyebrow at his comment in disbelief, “So says the expert sniper.”

North Dakota shrugged, “Angles and points of trajectory you definitely need to be exact on.” He conceded, frowning slightly: “Dates?  Well, sometimes it’s best _not_ to focus on them as much.”

“Even when up against a deadline you don’t want to reach?”

With anyone else, perhaps this type of conversation would end up fairly quickly devolving into an argument.  But, Kimball was more or less simply curious about North’s potential response to the question than countering what he had said earlier.

Besides, she was far too pulled taut and drained to be snappish at allies right now.

Men like Hargrove though?  Or Felix?  She wondered if she would even be able to hold herself back enough to throw an explosive outburst in their direction before pulling a trigger if she was face-to-face with them.

Dwelling on what had happened constantly over the last couple of months had certainly only increased her already quite understandable anger towards them.

“Best to focus more on what you can do than what you can’t.” The blonde advised.

It was solid advice, all in all, and something she had tried to put into practice quite a bit recently.  Her waking hours were now spent with activities such as preparedness drills, intensified training regiments, repairs to the more compromised sections of tunnels, restocking munitions and supplies, and setting up evacuation points in the city proper.

Though whether or not they would be able to do any good considering that the scope of the weapon they were potentially facing was currently not yet known remained to be seen.

The rare instances when she tried to be alone to recollect her thoughts never went as well as she hoped they would, as this instant just now sadly showcased.

Several people had voiced concern over her lack of sleep recently.  Kimball had battled insomnia ever since she became the leader of the Resistance but it was even more apparent now to everyone.  It had gotten to the point that Sarge had evidently asked Doctor Grey for possible sleeping medication.

She wouldn’t have put it past the two of them to try sneaking it into her food or drink if they were really concerned about her health.  The Slums resident couldn’t decide whether to be touched by the concern or annoyed by it.

“Considering what happened and what we’re potentially dealing with,” she finally admitted at length, letting out a tired sigh as she did so, “That’s just extremely hard to do right now.”

There were no easy answers or ways out.  That was for sure.  The finality of Felix’s last declarations, of Hargrove’s not-as-subtle-as-he-pretended-they-were parting words repeating in her head just as fervently as when she had last heard them.

How could she have been so _damn blind_ to what Felix had been up to in the first place?  That was completely on her head and hers alone.

“Things will get sorted out.” The purple-armored fighter patted her shoulder, “Very soon, I suspect.”

“Hopefully.” She sighed, suddenly finding the office almost suffocating with the heavier topics they were discussing weighing down on them, “Quite a few paybacks are in order.”

As much as she would love to settle the score with Hargrove and his mercenaries, she was hardly the only person that applied to.  Tucker was certainly more than itching to take them down and rescue his son in the process.  No doubt C.T. would be wanting to repay the knife wound in kind.  Sarge had been writing “dirt bag merc” in very small lettering on all of his shotgun shells in his spare time, and everyone else in the Resistance was understandably more than just a little upset by what had happened.

Waiting for news and prepping for an attack.  It was all putting everyone on edge.

“They’ll have to get in line.” The former Freelancer shot her a knowing look, “Stopping whatever their goal is involving the alien relic is still top priority, I take it?”

“Always will be.” Couldn’t let thoughts of revenge keep them from staying grounded on what really mattered: ensuring the continued existence of the Slums in light of Hargrove’s desire to create some kind of super-weapon.

Though she couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on her face as she added, “But the payback’s a close second.”

“Sarge will definitely be glad to hear that, along with a few others.” North turned then, motioning outside the hallway as if he was remembering something, “Actually, speaking of Sarge, he was asking for you earlier.”

Ah, so that explained North’s friendly visit a bit more.

Most fighters steered clear of her office when she was in there unless they needed her for something.  Apparently the recording replays were more than a bit disconcerting to them.  She felt bad about that, in a way.  Perhaps it would just be better for everyone in the long run, herself included, if she just deleted the fucking message and got it over with.

Her mind automatically went into Worst Case Scenario Mode at North’s comment, wondering why Sarge hadn’t simply come and gotten her himself.  The older soldier was more than welcome in her office, after all.  He also had no issues with dragging her out of there in the past whenever he had felt that she’d needed it despite her technically being higher in rank.

He had done so quite recently, in fact, telling her that _“You’ve squirreled yourself away for so long you must’ve been talking to imaginary friends and that just ain’t healthy.”_

That was right before he remarked on how he should know because sometimes he talked to his shotgun in an attempt to cover his concern with humor, though that tidbit probably would have had more impact if it _hadn’t_ been true.

Had something happened to Sarge?  Or to one of the lieutenants during training, or…?

North was able to read the growing worried expression crossing over her face fairly accurately.  He held up a hand to halt her inner ramblings about injury, explosions, and imminent fiery death.

“It’s nothing bad, Kimball.” He assured her, smiling slightly, “Actually, it’s fairly good news.  Surprisingly.”

“Oh?” She relaxed somewhat, taking in a deep breath to calm herself down, “We haven’t had too much of that recently.”

It was meant to be something of a joke, but it was a truth that sadly hit far too close to home.

“Sarge figured you might need some because of that.” He glanced around the corridor as if looking for someone, “Though we need to also pick up Caboose along the way.”

“Caboose?” Kimball was surprised that Sarge would be seeking out the blond-haired youngest member of Blue Team specifically.

Usually he tended to always prefer calling on the “rival” colored squad to his own as a group, if only for efficiency’s sake for his strategies.  Or merely to rub it in their collective faces if he felt that Red Team had done something better than them.

She still wasn’t entirely certain why he felt as strongly as he did in the whole rivalry thing since that hadn’t even been the reason she’d divided the two teams up in the first place.  To say that the older soldier had eccentric thought processes was a bit of an understatement.

Sarge seemed to like Caboose well enough though.  Or, at the very least, he tolerated him more than his other self-professed “competitors.”

But, given Caboose’s odd interpretations of assignments and his perplexing ability to cause most machines he came into contact with to somehow catch on fire, the Blue Team member was usually not the first person someone called on at base for assignments.

So, Sarge asking for Michael J. Caboose specifically must have meant— _had he actually managed to find a way to get_ him _operational again?_

She cast a questioning look North’s way to see if her suspicions were correct, trying not to get _too_ hopeful or optimistic.

North smiled slightly though, giving a nod in confirmation to her silent inquiry, “Sarge thought it would be best if Caboose was one of the first people who welcomes him back.”

It _was_ something of positive news at least, particularly for Caboose then.  It had been hard enough seeing the normally far-too-carefree young man depressed and anxious on top of everything else that was going on.

For a brief moment, Vanessa Kimball felt more energized and eager than she had in quite a while, “Let’s not keep him waiting too long then.”

North nodded before adding, “Sarge suggested that target practice might be in order to celebrate later too.”

Kimball couldn’t help but almost laugh.  Leave it to Sarge to use the excuse of celebrating as a reason to shoot at things.

Of course, he also used it to blow off steam as well.  It was his preferred method of dealing with stress, as it were.  When she had first become leader of the Resistance, he had taken her to target practice more times than she could recall for that very reason.

Perhaps that was yet another reason as to why he had wanted to specifically include her in an event that would help lift Caboose’s spirits.

She smiled slightly as they made their way through the corridors, searching for the Blue Team member in question, “I’d be all for that too, North.”

No doubt the targets Sarge had in mind would have distinct shades of orange and steel to them.

*****

Simmons closed his eyes, counting backwards in his head from one hundred.

Well, he was _trying_ to do so at any rate but ultimately failing miserably.  He felt bad that yet another of Doc’s helpful relaxation techniques that his medic teammate had suggested to him was going to waste.

At this point, he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with said suggestions being faulty, but more to do with the person attempting them.  The redhead really was beginning to suspect that “anxious” was just his default setting.

But, one could hardly blame him for that at the moment considering where he was and who he was waiting for.

Being in the building that housed the Council was _always_ nerve-wracking.  The atmosphere there made the more top-level security floors of the Mother of Invention feel downright cozy by comparison.  Being there because of a summons from a Council representative was all the more-so nerve-wracking.

Particularly due to having received said summons through his _father_ of all people, though it figured that one of the rare instances when his surviving parent bothered attempting to get into contact with him was to give him an order.

His father hadn’t even bothered asking how he was doing, or even remotely bothered to look him in the eye.  The older man had even become increasingly annoyed with Simmons’ stammering attempts at making small talk throughout the whole unpleasant episode.

Thinking back on that whole experience while sitting here caused all sorts of lingering issues to come to the surface.  It was a vicious cycle, really.

First he’d think something negative himself.  Then his thoughts would drift to other things, such as his relationship with his dad like in this case.  Then they’d wander to the whole tense current stand-off situation with the Slums, which would ultimately have him thinking about the people he’d met there from the Resistance and elsewhere.  Then his thoughts always landed on his last conversation with Kaikaina before they’d had to leave in a hurry a while ago after the peace talks had fallen through.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck had happened there, really.  Carolina and Church would both narrow their eyes the second it seemed as if you would so much as ask them about it.  Church’s reaction he suspected was more because he didn’t know himself either and was tired of getting asked about it from his curious and-a-bit-more-upset-it-happened-as-it-did teammates.  Carolina’s reaction was simply because she felt it was none of their business in the first place.

…Which, of course, would _all_ somehow lead him to thinking about Grif.

Thinking on all of that in turn would bring the Above Grounder back to thinking just how useless he was in the face of everything that was happening.

He sighed, already feeling as if said cycle was about to take hold of him again as he sat there.  It was, sadly, becoming much more routine now.

“Private Simmons?” A somewhat high-pitched, nervous-sounding voice broke through his thoughts thankfully before they dwelled any longer on troubling topics.

Having someone interrupt that was truthfully a blessing.

The person fidgeting in front of him was a blond-haired man who appeared to be middle aged.  Certain spots of his hair were streaked with gray already, and there were a few worry lines creasing his face.

He was smiling politely, the expression seeming almost out of place in a building where even the interior decorating seemed cold.

In a strange way, he almost reminded him a bit of Captain Flowers somehow, albeit with a much meeker demeanor.

Something changed in his expression though, and he frowned slightly as he regarded Simmons with an odd look.

“Good heavens, have you been sitting here for long?” The man asked him, glancing reproachfully at a wall-terminal across from them where the time was being displayed.  He was wearing white armor with a golden trim, though his helmet was nowhere to be seen.

“Er…” Simmons blinked, brain scrambling to figure out if he recalled who this person addressing him was and completely drawing a blank.  He was fairly certain this was the first time they’d met, despite how the stranger had known who he was.

The cyborg’s obvious confusion registered with the blonde, because the man sighed.  “Ah, that’s right.  We haven’t officially met yet, have we?” He asked, “No wonder you look so startled at a stranger accosting you out of the blue like that.”

A hand was promptly thrust out in Simmons’ direction, “I am Donald Doyle, personal secretary to the Council.”

Simmons shook his hand quickly, the name sounding vaguely familiar.  The personal secretary often was the one who posted information that the Council wanted given to either the military or the general public, he recalled.  Being in charge of the business and personal affairs of so many top-level officials was quite an accomplishment, and no doubt very nerve-wracking in and of itself.

Doyle had a fairly strong grip despite seeming to be somewhat timid.

“I recognized you from the Council records.” Doyle continued, his tone conversational and still oddly out of place given the more professional and rather sterile decorum of the building they were standing in.

Honestly, Doyle was the first person Simmons had encountered here who seemed capable of a genuine smile.  It made him seem even more out of place by contrast, “And, er, of course, your father as well.  He’s a well-known figure here.”

“Of course.” Simmons tried his hardest to not stutter, and he held back on the biting thought that the only reason that happened to be was because his father barely spent time anywhere else.

He wasn’t sure if the polite smile he had put on his face during this exchange had taken on a watery hue or not.  Knowing his luck, most likely.

Though, thankfully, there was something else that Doyle had said that the redhead could latch his brain onto instead to distract himself from his usual self-defeating awkwardness.

“C—Council records, sir?” There was a slight squeak in his voice then, but he ignored it.

Doyle was no doubt referring to the summons he had gotten today, because what else could he mean?  Simmons’ records were pretty laughable, so he doubted the Council paid him much heed compared to kick-ass Freelancers like Carolina or Washington.  But, the comment helped push him past dwelling too much on his rocky relationship with his father, so it was worth asking for elaboration all the same.

Although, given how that was the case, why Simmons had been called upon to come down here at all on his own and without even his team was still a bit of a mystery.

“Your name comes up quite a bit in meetings.” Doyle responded back casually, as if that should have been fairly common knowledge.

Simmons stared at the older man in stunned silence for a few moments processing his words, causing the secretary to shift uncomfortably under his green and red-tinted gaze.

“Um, c—could you possibly elaborate on that, sir?” He finally managed to get out.

 “You didn’t really know, Private Simmons?” Doyle frowned, asking in an unsure tone.

This was the first fucking time Simmons had heard about it.  He nodded his head in confirmation.

“It’s because of the…” Here Doyle paused, as if trying to come up with the best word to use next.  He actually struck Simmons as someone who was better suited to diplomatic measures.

“Ah, _cybernetic_ enhancements, I’m sure.  That project is discussed quite regularly here.”

Simmons frowned, his response being automatic, “That project was a failure.”

He should know, after all, having volunteered and gone through that whole nightmare of an ordeal.  The moment when the doctors had declared the failure verdict was forever etched into his mind as one of _many_ poor choices made during Richard “Dick” Simmons’ life to be summed up quite succinctly and in perfect technical jargon.

Doyle looked taken aback, though after a moment of inner debate he seemed to come up with a response.

“Are you sure?” He simply asked, lowering his voice a few decibels, “Perhaps that was the _official_ line on paper, but the project seems to still be very much underway from the talk around the table.”

Now _that_ wasn’t remotely vague or creepy or anything.  A shiver went down the length of Simmons’ body at Doyle’s statement, though it was hard to refute it without knowing the full story.

He knew enough about how the Council tended to operate now to know that sometimes what they said their stance on things was to the public was very much the exact opposite of what it actually was in reality.

But, why lie about something like that at all in the first place?  Especially to one of the participants?

The aide sighed, patting Simmons’ shoulder slightly in what was no doubt meant to be a sympathetic gesture, “They _can_ be a secretive bunch, I know.  But, it is usually for the right reasons.” He said, his tone taking on an apologetic note, “Perhaps I was in the wrong for saying anything in the first place.  Pay what I said before no mind, Private Simmons.”

Well-intentioned as Donald Doyle seemed to be, it was fairly obvious in this instance that he probably knew even less about how the Council operated than Simmons did if he truly thought that.  Then again, the government was very good at manipulating the facts in general.

Perhaps being outside of the radar was helpful in a way at keeping one more aware of what reality was, even if you still weren’t as in the loop as you would like to be.  There were generally a lot of “right reasons” lacking in Above Ground politics.

If what Doyle had slipped out was truthful, was _that_ the real reason behind his continued maintenance checkups?  He’d always assumed it was for health reasons, that although the project had been deemed a failure, they wanted to make sure the resources weren’t going completely to waste still.  Money and all of that, after all.

But, if that wasn’t the case, then…

Doyle was waiting for him to reply with something, looking apologetically distraught over having potentially said something either out of line or upsetting.

Simmons was trying to come up with some assurance to give the secretary despite his brain already working overtime.  Now, thinking about the cybernetics again made his mechanical parts ache as if to just taunt him with their continued existence.

He was only able to get out the brilliant starting note of “Umm…” before being, thankfully or unthankfully, interrupted.

“Ah, Private Simmons.” The soothing and yet oddly monotone voice of the man Simmons only knew as the Counselor filtered in from behind them in the waiting area, “My apologies for not getting in contact with you earlier, but very recent matters have unfortunately made it necessary to postpone your summons.”

The redhead couldn’t help but jump a little at the presence of the person who was, for all accounts and purposes, the right-hand man of the mysterious Director of Project Freelancer.  The Counselor was one of the last people the cyborg had expected to run into while in the headquarters of the Council.

Though, come to think of it, he _had_ been oddly absent from the Mother of Invention for quite some time now.  Even someone like Simmons, who didn’t have clearance for the higher floors of the base, was aware of that.  Particularly with how quickly rumors spread.

The man picked up on his surprise, giving the odd slight smile that never quite seemed to reach his eyes that Simmons remembered from the few times he’d met the Counselor before, “Project Freelancer is not quite as…active as it used to be, as you are aware.” He explained, “I am assisting Chairman Hargrove with other matters in the meanwhile.”

Simmons could only nod mutely, fairly certain that snippet of information was the only bit he would receive on the subject.

Doyle looked at the Counselor quizzically, “So it was Chairman Hargrove who requested to see Private Simmons and not the Council then?” He asked, “I hadn’t received any notice before now.”

The dark-skinned man turned to the Council secretary and smiled in what appeared to be an attempt at looking good-natured, “My apologies for that, Secretary Doyle.” He stated calmly, “I am not as familiar with the proper procedures here yet.  But, yes, I had arranged a meeting with Private Simmons on Chairman Hargrove’s behalf.”

“Ah, I see.” Doyle nodded his head as if that clearly explained everything.  Perhaps it did, in the administrative field: “I suppose that is that then, and the matter’s settled.”

“I shall be sure to keep you and the rest of the Council informed of Chairman Hargrove’s actions in the future.” The Counselor continued, “ _When_ they coincide with official Council business.”

There was an awkward pause from Doyle following that remark, and Simmons wondered if there was something said between the lines just then.  He sure as fuck felt uncomfortable just standing near the two men at the moment.

Doyle managed to shake whatever it was off a couple minutes later though, “Yes, well, thank you for letting me know of the mix-up.”

“Of course.” The Counselor turned to Simmons then, “I was arranging the meeting mainly due to the fact that the location for your maintenance has been changed, but that has to be regretfully postponed for now.  I will have to send you the new location and date later.”

He looked at him carefully, as if checking the soldier over, “Are you feeling at all unwell, as if you need to be seen more quickly than usual, Private Simmons?”

No more than he usually did when it came to the cybernetic enhancements.  Then again, it wasn’t as if the maintenance checks actually helped improve much anyways.  Simmons always felt rather uncomfortable in his body now in general, though events as a whole these last few months had done a number on him otherwise.

His current new mantra in life was _“Don’t think about the Slums right now, or Kai.  And especially not Grif.”_

“No, sir.” Simmons shook his head, though he couldn’t help but ask, “Chairman Hargrove is overseeing my maintenance?”

The Counselor smiled again, “I can understand how you didn’t know before now, as it wasn’t common knowledge.” He informed him, “He was the backer of the project for the Council.  Naturally, he has a vested concern for its candidates due to some of the unforeseen difficulties it has had.”

“I thought the project failed.” The redhead stated bluntly, still surprised by the wording they were using.  The Counselor was describing it as if the project had just hit some sort of rough patch they were trying to figure out instead of being halted outright as the cyborg had been told so long ago.

“From a more direct military viewpoint, yes.” The Counselor was glancing down disinterestedly at a datapad he had been holding the whole time, “But there is still the possibility of it having benefits we hadn’t thought of from non-combative stances.”

Exhaust all possibilities, especially when a whole lot of time and money and resources had been put into something.  It made a very logical sort of sense, but there was still something bothering him about it.

“No one’s really told me what those might be, sir.”

Maybe Simmons was crossing a line there, but he had volunteered for the cybernetic procedure and had gone through a lot as a result.  If his body was considered part of the project now, shouldn’t he know more about it in general?

The Counselor looked up then, face unreadable for a moment, “In due time, Private Simmons.” He said at length, his tone taking on its soothing quality again, “Once we know for certain what exactly they might be.”

“But…”

If he knew for certain what they were rooting around for inside him, maybe he could— well, he wasn’t sure what he could or would do in that case.

Especially since a nagging voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him that they probably knew well enough what they thought those so-called “benefits” were, and just didn’t think he had the right to know.

He should have suspected that long ago, with how uneasy the check-ups and the quiet way they were handled had always made him felt.  He was kicking himself mentally for having not really thought of why that was until just now.

“The doctors should be able to more accurately answer your concerns at your next check-up, Private Simmons.”

A postponement, then.  One that he knew would lead nowhere given the usual interactions with his “doctors” ever since his check-ups after the surgery had started.

The Above Grounder nodded his head though, knowing there was no point in stating that out loud, “Of course, sir.”

The Counselor left then, on whatever urgent business he’d needed to delve into.

Doyle cleared his throat, looking even more uncomfortable than Simmons felt after that exchange, “Well, er, that cleared up some of the confusion, I take it?” He asked, sounding rather unsure himself.

It hadn’t.  Not really.  It had only added a shitload more of it to the usual confusion and doubt the redhead always felt.

But, maybe it was a sign that he finally needed to do something about it instead.  There was only one person he thought of that he could probably ask for more information from, especially considering that the Council was involved.

Simmons sighed, praying that Agent Carolina was in a slightly more giving mood today than usual.  Or at least not in a _“I’ll kill you where you stand for so much as asking a question!”_ one.

*****

“All right now.  Hold still, please!”

C.T. winced at the sharp poke in her side, the pain causing an involuntary flinch of her entire body away from the offending instrument.

Doctor Grey stood bent over the former Freelancer with her finger still pointed out, lips pursed and dark eyes glancing at her patient’s suddenly sheepish face accusingly.

“That was the exact _opposite_ of holding still.” She informed her bluntly.

“Sorry.  That area is still pretty sensitive.” C.T. mumbled, holding up the edges of the shirt she was wearing so that the doctor could get a proper look at where her wound had been.

It was now scarred over spectacularly in what Private Palomo had described as a _“very badass”_ way.  That was before Lieutenant Smith had reproached him for the remark when the newer recruits had first checked up on her following her injury.

Doctor Grey sighed, taking on the sort of tone one might try on a child who was trying to test boundaries, “Of course it is, sweetie.” She told her, “You were stabbed pretty deeply there just a little while ago.  That takes some time to recover from even though someone has done a _very_ impressive job of closing you up.”

“Yes, you’re right.” For what felt like the umpteenth time since she had come to, the brunette started, “Thank you for that again, Doctor.  If you hadn’t been there, I’d probably—“

“Not be thanking me endlessly for the millionth time.  Yes, I know.” Doctor Grey grinned, “Though the examinations and putting my know-how to use are always gratitude enough for me, you know.”

She gave a wink in the direction of C.T.’s exposed midsection, causing her patient to flush slightly.

“I mean, after all, a doctor who doesn’t have any patients to sew back up is liable to get a little stir-crazy.” She continued, “I try to keep busy with some other hobbies, but you should see the weird looks you get when you’re bored and try dissecting your food in the mess hall.”

One learned early on when dealing with Emily Grey that it was best to try to not dwell too much on some of the more questionable commentary she made.

In a way, conversing with her was a bit like conversing with Donut.  It was no wonder, then, that the two of them seemed to get along swimmingly whenever they were in the same room together.

The doctor motioned that the former Freelancer could lower her shirt again, her attention focused on the datapad nearby that she was swiftly entering information into.

“Besides, I should be thanking you guys for setting me up down here.” She paused for a moment, frowning as she contemplated how to best finish that comment, “Given the circumstances and everything, I really don’t think Above Ground military would be terribly accommodating of me anymore.”

“Probably not, unfortunately.” C.T. smiled sadly, “Sorry.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, I think.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, “My superiors were complaining that I was asking too much about classified projects that went through the medical channels.  It was more or less just scientific curiosity for me at the time because I get bored if I don’t have something new to observe, but I think they probably assumed I was suspecting that something wasn’t quite adding up.”

She glanced over at C.T., frowning: “Which doesn’t seem too far from the truth now.”

“Most likely.  There are lots of little questionable side projects set-up throughout the military by higher-ups.”

C.T. should know, after all, considering how she had been involved in one of the larger ones for quite some time before realizing the full extent of what was going on.

Doctor Grey had pretty much commandeered the room that served as a makeshift clinic at the base since arriving there.

That had truthfully been a pretty welcome change of pace for the Resistance medics who normally worked there, as many of them hadn’t been well-trained to begin with.  They had learned basic First Aid, but didn’t have a lot of practical medical knowledge beyond that.

As a result, they had been more than glad to have Doctor Grey’s input, as it also gave them more time to devote to other duties since they also performed as fighters too.  It seemed as if that was what most of them were doing at the moment, given that C.T. and the doctor were the only people there now.

All in all, it said something positive about Doctor Grey that she had adjusted to her new situation as well as she had given the massive upheaval of her life that had occurred only a few months ago.

Of course, the fact that she had tended to a lot of injuries following Felix’s betrayal had helped alleviate many of the usual suspicions or hostility people in the Resistance tended to have initially towards anyone who had been associated in the past with Above Ground.

Any of the few people who might still think that way were more than willing to keep Doctor Grey at a respectfully wide berth, particularly after she demonstrated what she could do with a steak knife in front of someone who had tried messing with her early on.  Some still shudder involuntarily even now if they hear her so much as hum or laugh.

“Which explains how you and the other Freelancers in the Resistance came to be down here, am I right?” Doctor Grey looked up from her datapad to fix her with a knowing look, “I am fairly certain the old commando guy and Caboose were in similar situations as well.”

C.T. simply stared at her, rather surprised by the last line of her statement in particular.  The remark about her and the other former Freelancer agents wasn’t terribly shocking, as they were pretty well-known figures at the Mother of Invention when the project had been in full swing.  C.T. had even found out that apparently Doctor Grey had been stationed there at least for a little while during one of her recovery checkups.

Sarge’s connection to Above Ground was lesser known though.  It wasn’t like the older soldier was trying to actively keep it a secret, but he just never seemed all that eager to talk much about it beyond an occasional odd reference or anecdote.  Caboose’s was even less known, as he hadn’t even been a part of the military before someone in his past had decided he just wasn’t fit to live topside anymore.

Doctor Grey smirked at her expression, “Oh, I am very good at observing things.” She remarked gleefully, apparently relishing the chance to catch someone off-guard.

“I see.” The former Freelancer had to admit she was somewhat impressed.

“Not to mention that Sarge asked me about a possible autopsy report I may have seen, and Caboose likes talking a whole lot to keep his mind off of injections.  Somehow talking about favorite lollipop flavors went into how a vending machine catching fire up in Above Ground was in no way his fault.”

C.T. couldn’t help but smile at that last comment, as _most_ of Caboose’s machine stories seemed to end with some piece of machinery inexplicably catching on fire through no fault of his own.

It was one of the main reasons why her blue-armored teammate wasn’t allowed to operate any vehicles or ovens on base anymore.

“Of course, it’s good to get him talking in general.  The poor guy’s been pretty mopey whenever I’ve seen him recently, and he was pretty lively at that bar outing before.” The doctor noted, looking almost sad at the change in character as she added in sympathetically, “Losing his friend must have been incredibly hard on him.”

In a lot of ways, even that was a bit of an understatement given how devastated Caboose had been since.  Caboose had been extremely attached to Freckles, after all.

On top of losing his mechanical friend, there was also Felix’s betrayal.  She hated herself for not catching on to that sooner given the mercenary’s actions.  Had he been purposefully testing the waters at times just to see how far he could let the act drop before someone would catch on?

Junior’s kidnapping had also hit Caboose surprisingly hard, as had the injury and loss of several others in the Resistance he had been more or less acquainted with.  There was even her own medical injury to contend with.  Caboose had acted as though C.T. had been going to die any second while she had been in immediate recovery.  Lieutenant Smith and Donut had to both try their hardest to assure him that wasn’t the case and to get his mind off of things for both Caboose’s own sake and C.T.’s healing.

That wasn’t even taking into account how attached her teammate had gotten to Above Grounders like Agent Washington or Leonard Church as well, who they now weren’t really all that sure what was going on with due to a lack of communication.  Hargrove seemed to be tightening his security in Above Ground to keep intelligence from slipping down to the Slums even more now that he had his hands on the relic.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t too much she could do to help her fragile teammate’s troubled thoughts and depression as she had been dealing with a lot on her own plate as well.  Which sucked royally, as she’d gotten oddly attached to the more innocent-minded Blue Team member.

So, instead, she focused on Doctor Grey’s other remark, “Were you able to help Sarge with the autopsy report?”

C.T. had to admit, she was a tad curious.  Perhaps the report he wanted information on had been for a comrade of his from when he had been in the Above Ground military.  She knew next to nothing about who he had worked with during that time.

Doctor Grey frowned, shaking her head, “Afraid not.  There were quite a few medical reports that were always sealed.  Half the time you only knew about them through word of mouth because they weren’t even in the proper databases.” She looked thoughtful, “All I could confirm from memory was that he was correct on the date.”

When C.T. stared at her questioningly, she shrugged, “As I said before, I get curious and my memory is quite good.”

Following that boast though, the doctor fixed the fighter with a sharp look, “But that’s all you’re going to get from me on that subject.” She stated with finality, “If you want more information on it, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

It made sense, the brunette supposed, “Patient confidentiality?”

The woman shrugged, “Not really, since he asked off-record and it has nothing to do with his personal medical history.  I just don’t think it’s my place to say anymore unless I know for certain he’s okay with it being common knowledge.”

She made a face moments later though, shuddering, “Don’t get me started on patient confidentiality though!  I really hate that!  You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tell someone not to date another person because I know exactly _what_ is causing their rash and how it gets passed to someone else.”

“That would be problematic.” C.T. remarked sympathetically, having to really fight back the urge to smile slightly at the mental imagery that put in her head and the doctor’s obvious exasperation.

“Of course, letting someone _think_ I’d tell on them can have a pretty good effect too.” There was a maniacal gleam in her eye as she let out a small laugh, face lighting up with nostalgia, “Medicine can be a powerful tool in someone’s social arsenal for all sorts of reasons!”

Following that remark, the brunette made a mental note that it was probably a very smart idea to always try to stay on Doctor Grey’s good side.

The dark-skinned woman waved her hand slightly, the smile diminishing on her face as if she was trying to focus back on business after reliving a particularly joyous memory.

“Anyways, beyond recommending that you not do anything _too_ extreme still, I’d say you’re healing up rather nicely.” She nodded her head as if confirming her assessment to herself again, smirking slightly, “That’s the miracle of what rest, time, cutting edge medical tools, and a person who knows how to use them are capable of!”

C.T. nodded thankfully again, though her slight smile turned into a wistful frown moments later, “I do wish the rest part hadn’t come from having no idea of what to do next though.”

There had been no word from anyone about what was going on in Above Ground, as far as she knew, which was a lot more troublesome than anyone would care to admit given just what they were now dealing with.

After all, not only was there essentially a ticking time-bomb over everyone’s heads, but Junior had been taken as well.  According to York, both Washington and Carolina were putting themselves at a lot of risk trying to figure out where the relic had been taken to following its removal from the tunnels.

Four months of mostly silence given that was enough to make anyone anxious.

Doctor Grey seemed to pick up on what she was referring to fairly quickly, a frown crossing over her own features, “Yes, well, I suppose that is a mixed blessing.  All things considered.”

“Tell me about it.” There was a scoff from the doorway just then, and the two women looked up to see Lavernius Tucker standing there.

His arms were crossed over his chest and he had a rather familiar impatient look plastered over his face, “Waiting with all of this bullshit going on is the fucking worst.”

There was a whole lot that wasn’t said lingering behind that statement, and C.T. didn’t really have to dwell too much on why Tucker felt that way.  After all, it was fairly obvious to everyone.

Doctor Grey glanced between both teammates, standing up then and heading past the teal-armored fighter in the doorway.

“Well, I should probably get going now.  Speaking of Caboose reminded me that I promised to tell him whenever that new shipment of lollipops came in.” She stated, grinning, “I just got a ton of them finally along with the new scalpels I’d ordered.  I can’t wait to test those suckers out!”

She stopped walking for a moment to glance back at C.T., “Just a bit more rest and you should be good to go, more or less!”

“Thanks again, Doctor.” She inclined her head slightly in the dark-haired woman’s direction.

“Oh, you can thank me by letting me stitch you up again whenever you’re life-threateningly injured!” The smile Doctor Grey threw at her as she waved off the former Freelancer’s gratitude was blindingly white, and she quickly turned it to Tucker, “Same to you, teal guy!”

“Gee, thanks.” Tucker moved out of her way as she bounded down the hall.

Judging by the uneasy expression that flittered across her teammate’s face, C.T. had a feeling he was probably going to be even more careful with avoiding injury so long as Doctor Grey was handling check-ups at base.

 _“Teammate”_ was probably not the right term for Tucker anymore, but it was the only one he allowed her to use.  Really, he was more or less her leader, given his longer experience in the Resistance and the track record he never seemed to fully want to acknowledge.

“She really does know her stuff.” She tried putting in helpfully.

“Oh, I know.  She’s _really_ good.  Probably the best fucking doctor we’ve had around here in awhile.” He shrugged before adding, “But she also happens to be batshit nuts.”

No real argument there.  The white-armored doctor’s heart seemed to be in the right place, but her mental state at times was a bit more questionable.

Tucker turned then to regard his teammate, a serious look crossing over his features as he did so, “It _is_ awesomely good news that you’re pretty much back to normal though, C.T.”

There was a lot within that remark that wasn’t said as well, she noted.  Her teammate had gotten into the habit of sneaking in on her checkups since the injury, most likely due to _why_ she had been injured in the first place.

Perhaps Tucker felt guilty that she had been injured trying to rescue his son, though she wasn’t fully certain.  He would change the subject pretty quickly whenever she tried to ask about it, and had gotten snappish in the past if she tried persisting to do so.  He often became snappish in general if someone ever mentioned what happened to Junior, but that was understandable.

“It is good news, definitely.” She stated, frowning slightly at Tucker, “Though I agree that the waiting does suck majorly.”

There was a lot more she wanted to follow through with from that line of thought, truthfully.

_“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get Junior out of there.”_

It was always on the tip of her tongue, but she would stop short of saying it outright, just as he always seemed to stop short of admitting why he always magically showed up whenever she had a scheduled appointment with Doctor Grey.

Still, she suspected he probably guessed what she was thinking regardless if the knowing look crossing over his eyes as he nodded in response to her earlier assessment was any indication.  Their dynamic had definitely shifted a lot due to the events of four months ago.  It oddly seemed more trusting now.

Apparently, getting stabbed while trying to fight off a betrayer and rescue a child was enough to overcome that awkward hurdle of her having been connected to the Insurrection.  Who knew?

She probably would have preferred a less painful way herself, but at least now Donut wouldn’t be as worried about the two of them getting along as he had been.  In fact, a few weeks ago the pink-armored soldier told her he had apparently been _“this close”_ to making them write friendship journals.  So they may have dodged a bullet there in terms of Donut’s well-meaning, but rather awkward attempts at building up team dynamics.

She supposed the reason for the change in their relationship counted as what Doctor Grey would call a “mixed blessing.”

“It sucks major ass.  That’s all there is to say.” Tucker put in his two cents, and a darkened look crossed over his features, “That prick Washington said he’d have news a while ago, and so far there’s been a whole lot of nothing on that front.”

He sounded aggravated given the circumstances.  They all were, truthfully.  Still, there was something almost along the lines of an undercurrent of worry in his voice too.  It was most definitely for Junior and probably also for what the lack of information meant for both his son and all of them in general, but there was a slight twitch in his facial muscles when he mentioned Washington as well.

C.T. raised an eyebrow slightly, but decided it was probably best to not mention it.  Maybe Tucker didn’t even realize what he’d done there, and she had just gotten a better dynamic with him in the past couple of months.  She was not about to jeopardize it.

Though if they were ever able to speak on friendlier terms for more than five seconds in the near future, she might be able to tease her childhood friend over it.  To be able to do that again would be a nice change of pace for both of them, she thought wistfully.

“He’s no doubt trying his hardest.  Washington is pretty stubborn when his mind is set on something.” She stated instead, “It’s one of the reasons he managed to make it into Freelancer despite how clumsy he can be.”

That diverted Tucker’s attention from his trepidation for a moment at least, because he fixed her with an incredulous stare, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

She shook her head, smiling slightly, “My parents used to hide the vases when he came over because he’d always somehow trip and knock over shelves.  There was a running tab on how much damage he caused Project Freelancer equipment until he just really devoted himself to training.  I think it was up in the thousands, last time I’d checked.”

Even after that though, you’d occasionally catch a swear word over the comm-link whenever Wash ended up slipping after a jump or tripped over a wire.  Not to mention all of the times when he would just forget that the radio was on in the first place and coo about cats he’d seen recently.

Poor guy had to develop quite a thick skin when it came to the good-natured ribbing from teammates, though it probably did make him actually try all the harder during missions.

Tucker laughed, a genuine one for the first time in what seemed like ages, “Oh man, that’s good!  You’re going to have to tell me a shitload of those stories when we have the time.  If he pulls through on his end later, I definitely want to be able to rub that in his face given all the criticism he’s thrown my way!”

She grinned, “Sure, I’d be glad to.”

The brunette did feel a twinge of guilt towards her childhood friend and former teammate for probably providing a wealth of embarrassing blackmail information on him to Tucker in the future, but it was good to see Tucker’s mood be a bit lightened at the prospect.  Even if it was only temporary.  She had a suspicion that, given what Washington was doing now, he would probably be okay with it too.

It was strange how bonds could form out of random meetings, but given her own experience with that subject it wasn’t too surprising.

Still in a bit more of a jovial mindset now than he had been in earlier, Tucker grinned and motioned to the doorway.

“Sarge said he had a surprise for Caboose that we might want to check out as well.  I’m betting it will be entertaining, at least.” He glanced over at her, “Want to head there now?”

She gave a slight nod in confirmation, her curiosity mildly piqued.

As she met her teammate at the door, Tucker’s expression turned serious again.

The worry and stress were apparent in his eyes, just below the surface, but there was a glint of something else too: “If Washington _doesn’t_ come through for whatever reason, screw it!  _We’re_ just going to have to save Junior and kick Hargrove’s ass ourselves, right?”

“That’s the plan.” She smiled slightly as Tucker nodded his head, looking rather glad that she’d agreed with his battle plan.

She was rather relieved, actually.

Despite the obvious concern and anger that had been constants in Tucker’s demeanor recently, the determined spark that C.T. had noticed in the Resistance fighter when they had first met was still as strong as ever.

*****

Time was running out.

That thought alone kept running through Washington’s head as he stared at the terminal before him, mentally trying to will some kind of intel or hint to suddenly appear that would provide him with a clue.  He just needed an idea on where to look.

Doing that, unfortunately, yielded the exact same result as when he had attempted it twenty minutes ago.  Which was pretty much what happened every other time he’d _ever_ tried that technique, dating all the way back to when he was eight.  For his birthday that year he’d really wanted a poster of a cat riding a skateboard for his room and had gotten a sweater from his grandmother instead.

Worst birthday ever.  Of all time.

He sighed, not knowing what was more infuriating: that he had spent so long with his head buried in the sand, as Tex had so eloquently put it, or that it appeared as if now he was getting phased out of things completely by Hargrove.

If the Freelancer had had his cover blown, he’d be dead, so that wasn’t it.  But, clearly he was being considered potentially untrustworthy.  Which, given what he’d been up to recently, wasn’t exactly untrue.

That or he was no longer all that useful to whatever plans the Chairman was cooking up involving the relic or Junior.  Really, quite the major blow to Washington’s self-esteem there considering how much of a bastard the man was.

He hadn’t really seen or heard much about the mercenaries led by Locus and Felix.  Not since they had retrieved the relic and helped land a pretty devastating blow to the Resistance in the process.

The location of where Hargrove had put the relic for his research seemed to be quite heavily classified, and no doubt he was paying the mercenaries quite a bit of credit to make sure said location and the relic stayed away from prying eyes.

More than likely, the same level of secrecy applied for a live alien child too given past encounters with them.  Washington suspected that wherever Junior was being kept was probably very close to the artifact as well.  Or, at least he hoped that was the case, as it would certainly make things that much easier whenever he did find out where at least one of them was being held.

He had seen Wyoming in passing, but his “accomplice” Freelancer teammate never seemed willing to stay long enough to chat.  Given how Washington had been rather chilly to him after he had tried taking him out along with North, his lack of conversation was more than understandable.  Trying to suddenly act differently in order to get information would have put Wyoming on alert.  His teammate was intelligent and could definitely spot when others were attempting to play him.

If he was acting on Hargrove’s orders while at the Mother of Invention, Wyoming was doing a very good job of balancing it with his activities as a Freelancer.  Considering how Washington had been doing exactly the same thing before, that was more than likely true.

The truth was that there were far too little leads to go on.  Above Ground military had been placed on high alert after the peace talks were declared a “failure” on paper.  With the heightened security that went into effect as a result, trying to discreetly gain intel on secret projects sponsored by corrupt high end government officials was a very delicate business.

Not to mention that said secret projects involved potential doomsday devices, as well as the son of a person you actually found yourself tolerating more and more despite how exasperated you could get with them?

Well, that was certainly a recipe for strayed nerves when you already felt as if you were trying to find a needle in a haystack.  If he could just get some kind of clue…

“Working late again, asshole?” Leonard Church’s voice spoke up from behind him, and the blonde nearly jumped.

Church rarely came up to the top levels of the Mother of Invention despite having the clearance for it now thanks to working under Carolina, so he’d been one of the last people Washington expected to sneak up on him here.

The Above Grounder sighed at the smirk forming on the goateed man’s face in response to his reaction.  Just great.  Now he had to put up with Church’s aggressive outbursts and amusement at his expense to boot.

There was far too much going on right now to have to put up with this bullshit.

“In case you hadn’t noticed just walking around on base or in the city, tensions are rather high right now, Church.” He stated plainly, gray eyes narrowing in clear aggravation over how Church had interrupted him, “I’m rather busy trying to prevent all-out war.”

“What, by sitting at a terminal all day?” Church whistled, mock impressed, “Man, they really do pay you Freelancer dicks the big money for a reason, huh?”

Washington sighed.  He knew well enough ever since that whole “babysitting” escapade he wasn’t one of Church’s favorite people in the world.  Then again, judging by Church’s usual attitude towards society in general, that list was probably exceedingly short.

“What do you want, Church?”

The other man frowned, and there was an unsure look crossing through his blue eyes as if he was momentarily debating something before he spoke up, “Actually, this is one of those rare instances where I might— _might_ need your help.  If you aren’t an asshole about it.”

The Freelancer raised an eyebrow, “You have a really unique way of asking for favors.”

“And there you go being an asshole about it.” Church narrowed his eyes, giving him the finger abruptly.

Instead of being annoyed by the action, Washington was more curious.  Church pretty much loathed asking for assistance from _anyone_ , after all.  Despite how he’d responded to the Freelancer’s remark, it lacked his usual bite.  The fact that Church was still standing there at all, looking wholly uncomfortable with even being there, was enough to have his curiosity piqued.

“What is it that you need help with, Church?”

Church sighed, “Sheila has to go in for her routine maintenance soon.”

That was nothing new.  Robots with Virtual Intelligences were rather valuable pieces of equipment, after all.  It made sense that the military would therefore want to make sure that they were always in routine working order through daily upkeep.

The frown on his face must have been enough for Church to figure out what he was thinking, as he quickly elaborated on why he felt the matter was worth having more attention on.

“Only, apparently they’re having her go to a different facility than where it usually takes place.  They’ve blocked her from being able to even tell anyone where it is.” Church informed him, making his own curious face just then, “I tried asking around because she was concerned, but all I got was some bullshit response about a potential leak or something in the ranks and that no one can tell me anything.”

It almost, _almost_ sounded as if Church was somewhat concerned over this whole issue himself.  Washington regarded him with what must have appeared to be a look of shock, and the other man bristled.

“Look, every fucking month they’ve run their maintenance checks on her since…” The cobalt-armored soldier paused then, a clouded look crossing over his features before he shook his head to dissipate it, “I’m not exactly sure, but it’s been a pretty long-ass time.”

He sighed before continuing, “But with all of the weirdness still with you damn Freelancers and this weird uber-secret messed up shit going down, this is a little too strange even for me.”

It was Washington’s turn to sigh, figuring that that was about as close as Church would probably ever get to just admitting that he was concerned for a friend.

As for why there was the sudden need to change the location of Sheila’s scheduled maintenance checks and the new security attached to doing so?  Well, Washington had some suspicions of his own on that front.

Oddly enough, they were all largely connected to the dark-haired man standing in front of him.

He sighed again, “I wouldn’t be too shocked if you get called in soon as well, Church.”

Church looked rather surprised by the remark, “Me?  Why the fuck would anyone bother calling me in for something?”

Washington was trying to think of a delicate response to that question seeing as how delicacy wasn’t exactly a strong suit of his.  The blonde was also suspecting a massive blow-out if he actually just flat-out told Church the suspicions he had about the cobalt-armored soldier’s origin.  The suspicions that the Freelancer was becoming more certain of as the two of them continued to have interactions.

Before Washington could say anything, a voice spoke up from behind them: “Interesting.  Your theory on _that_ wouldn’t have any connection to why Hargrove is so interested in Private Simmons, would it?”

Both men turned in surprise to find Agent Carolina standing there, arms crossed over her chest and a darkening look filling her green eyes.  Her attention was completely fixated on Washington, ignoring her cousin entirely.  It seemed as if she was trying to gauge her Freelancer teammate’s reaction to her remark.

Carolina’s question reminded him of when she’d talked to him about something similar at the start of the “peace talks” to test just how much he knew about what Hargrove was doing.  Now Washington wanted to kick himself in hindsight, realizing that he’d been so distracted by other matters that he had forgotten all about it.  Though, in his defense, Carolina hadn’t mentioned it since.

Her expression only slightly lessened in intensity at seeing the surprise that registered on his face.

Hoping that the glare she was sporting would stop being directed his way, Washington asked, “You mean Hargrove requested his presence for something again, like during the delegations?”

“ _Simmons_?” Church looked even more confused at the exchange between the two Freelancers, “What the fuck does he have to do with anything?”

“Not right now, Church.” Carolina finally acknowledged her cousin only to regard him sharply before turning her attention back to Washington.

“Sure, that’s pretty much how you answer anything anymore.  Even when I ask what you’re fucking eating for dinner.” Church muttered under his breath, his agitation obvious.

Carolina was apparently used to his reactions to her more stand-offish mannerisms, as she focused her attention on Washington again, “Private Simmons just got in contact with me about some odd change in location the Council is ordering for his routine maintenance.  He found it unsettling.”

Washington glanced at Church then, noticing the frown forming on the cobalt-armored soldier’s face.

“He isn’t the first person on your team that they’ve tried discreetly changing maintenance location orders on.” The Freelancer remarked carefully after a few moments of silence, waiting to see if Church would want to hold back just who he was referring to or not.

Apparently the dark-haired man didn’t though, as even before the somewhat questioning look began to form in Carolina’s eyes, Church spoke up with obvious frustration in both his voice and body language, “So, first Sheila and now Simmons?  Are they throwing a goddamned nerd party or what?”

“Sheila?” Carolina looked at them questioningly, “She’s been given a change of location order as well?”

“Along with a block on telling anyone where exactly.” Church frowned, “I don’t get the sudden interest in secrecy when both of them went in for those stupid check-ups all the fucking time before.  It was no big deal.”

Washington frowned, “Did anyone ever say exactly _why_ their maintenance had to be so routine all the time, Church?”

“No.” Church shrugged, looking oddly uncomfortable, “But it’s not like I ever really asked or paid much attention.  I kind of figured it was just typical military bullshit because they counted as equipment or something.”

Washington and Carolina looked at each other then.

Washington felt an odd sense of déjà vu at how Church had described why he’d never thought too much about that issue, “There are a lot of things that can be hidden in plain sight, Church.”

Project Freelancer had been one huge testament to that, after all.  Hell, more than likely Church himself was another one.

Church grimaced.  His hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides, but he didn’t argue with Washington or say something snappish in response to his comment.  The blonde wondered if perhaps he was mentally berating himself for not having noticed that perhaps something odd was going on with two of his teammates before now.

“Now that things are heating up in terms of military activity, the higher-ups have decided to be more cautious in order to avoid whatever they’re looking for with these checkups from getting known.” Carolina stated quietly, already no doubt running control plans through her head.

The redhead had probably come here to see if he had any information that would be beneficial to her the second she’d finished talking with Simmons. In a way, Washington was relieved he hadn’t had any.

Before Washington had left the tunnels four months ago, York had told him that Carolina was searching for information about where the relic might be moved to as well.  The blonde hadn’t broached the topic to her though because Church’s complaint on his Freelancer leader loving her secrets was pretty apt.

If Carolina found out right now that he in some way knew or even suspected something had been going on with any of Florida’s squad, especially after his assurances before that he didn’t want anything to happen to them?

Even if they were technically on the same side now, Washington was pretty sure his head would have gone through the terminal behind him before he could even so much as form a coherent sentence.

“Why would they need to do that?” Church asked, looking both frustrated and confused all at once.

For the moment, Carolina ignored his question and kept her narrowed eyes focused on Washington, “Wash, we need to talk—and fast.  They’re going to make their move soon.”

The blonde couldn’t argue with her assessment there, truthfully.  It had been his thought as well.

She elaborated further when Washington chose to remain silent, “We need to figure out more information, and quickly.” The redhead sighed, tapping her foot slightly to emphasize her growing impatience, “The Director is missing.  With the Counselor’s new job focus, some kind of connection between Freelancer and Hargrove seems that much more likely.  On top of that, a ticking time bomb is in the process of being built as we speak.”

“Wait a minute!  There’s Freelancer bullshit and a bomb now too?”  Church cut in, looking as if he was about likely to explode himself, “What the fuck does any of that have to do with Sheila and Simmons?”

She leveled her cousin with a stare that clearly meant she’d get to explaining that out later before turning back to her teammate, “Washington, I know you’ve been working for Hargrove—” and here she ignored Church’s choice expletive commentary on that little bombshell, “And also that you’re now giving intel to the Resistance.”

York really didn’t keep much to himself if he thought someone was trustworthy, did he?  Washington sighed, remembering how he used to be much the same way.  He was way too cynical now probably to be that way anymore.

Though it was probably good that Carolina already knew about the last part in particular.  He’d had a feeling given how suspicious she’d been acting at times, and how she had on purpose baited him with information just to see how he’d respond to it, that she had known about his connection to Hargrove.

Having the redhead know that Washington was now not working for him would hopefully avoid her being suspicious of his actions every five seconds.  Also, it helped him avoid getting taken out by her for potentially being a traitor, which was a pretty big plus too.

“You’re a double-agent now?” Church almost sounded moderately impressed.

Washington rolled his eyes, “Hardly.  I wasn’t really ever in Hargrove’s inner circle to begin with.” He frowned, “Made it easier to come to a decision on what I should be doing when I figured out what was going on though.”

“Huh.  I really wouldn’t fucking know about that, dude.” Church muttered darkly, “I’m still lost as to what’s going on here.”

In more ways than Church would probably ever want to know, most likely.  Washington almost felt sympathetic towards him.

“What the Resistance needs most now is the location of that relic,” leave it to Carolina to get things back on track, “And I need to find out where the Director is.”

Washington regarded her thoughtfully, putting the pieces together, “You think the two are related somehow.”

“You don’t?  He’s been missing ever since Hargrove began investigating Project Freelancer.” She had a faraway look in her green eyes as she straightened her back even more, “Either he went into hiding and abandoned things entirely given what happened with the defectors and Maine—”

“Or he is either being coerced to or volunteered to work on an even more top-secret project for the Council.  Or its Chairman, more specifically.” Washington finished for her.

It was actually quite plausible, now that he thought of it.  Hargrove’s insistence that working for him would help Washington be truly free from the shadow of Project Freelancer hadn’t mentioned that the man in charge of the project would be brought to justice.  The blonde supposed that was a case of his mind choosing to ignore some pretty obvious reasons as to why it hadn’t been the wisest move he could have made.

She nodded, “An ancient alien artifact that could be harnessed into a super-weapon would be right up that alley.”

“You’re shitting me.” Church looked as if he was about to throw up, “ _That’s_ what you guys are dealing with?”

Carolina continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “Beyond that, I would also very much like to figure out why Private Simmons and Sheila are getting dragged into Council affairs as well.” She glanced at her cousin then, raising an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you, Church?”

He shook his head as if to get some of the more disturbing thoughts that this conversation had instilled in him out of there before glaring at her in annoyance, “Of course I fucking would.  Bad enough these assholes apparently want to blow up the planet because _that’s fucking smart_ to do.  They shouldn’t be dragging my loser teammates into it.” He paused before adding, “Even if they can be assholes too sometimes.”

Oddly enough, Washington suspected that was as close to “warm and fuzzy” as one got with Church.  He wasn’t sure if he should feel more amused by that thought or simply sad for his team.

Carolina smirked knowingly, and Church muttered something under his breath before promptly ignoring her.  Clearly, at Church’s expense, she had decided on feeling amused about it herself.

The mentioning of the changing locations involving Simmons and Sheila, as well as Carolina’s comment about the Director’s possible involvement, did have Washington thinking of at least one possible site to check out.

He should have thought of it before, but he knew why he probably hadn’t.  Even now, the Freelancer was dreading bringing it up at all.  He sighed, concealing the slight shudder that went through his body as finally decided to speak up.

“I have an idea as to where they might be moving their maintenance checks to, at least.” Washington informed them, glad that his voice didn’t tremble slightly as he did so, “Also on a potential lead as to the relic’s location.”

Hopefully on Junior’s whereabouts as well.  Washington frowned slightly, ignoring the mental image of Tucker’s face twisted with anger and _fear_ following when he’d punched him four months ago.

It was odd how often that image would pop up in the Above Grounder’s head to twist his insides whenever he found himself needing motivation to keep investigating after so many dead ends.  Though it always seemed to do the trick somehow, for reasons best left to wondering about later.

His remark caught Carolina and Church’s attention, and he continued when they both turned to look at him, “We’ll need a distraction though in order to break in.”

“Should be easy enough to get one.” Carolina said bluntly, “There are even quite a few people in the Slums who would be more than willing to assist on that end.”

He nodded his head slightly, knowing that it was a pretty accurate statement.  He didn’t particularly like the idea all that much, as he actually liked many of the people he had gotten to know in the Resistance.  Any action they took in regards to attacking Above Ground directly would definitely have more risks than he could count.

Again, had to bite down on the _Tucker_ thought that went through his mind just then. 

However, the Slums were also in the position of suffering the most regardless if Hargrove got the relic working in the way he intended it to.  So, it was understandable why they would want to get directly involved.

It would probably be their best window of opportunity to get into the facility Washington was thinking of as well without as much hassle given its usual tight security measures.

Carolina was looking at his serious expression with a rather assessing look of her own, “What is this lead of yours?”

“You’re really not going to like it, Carolina.” He let out another tired sigh, closing his eyes briefly, “Hell, _I_ don’t really like it either.”

That was a pretty blatant understatement, all things considered.  He was _dreading_ it.  The prospect of dredging up so much of what had nearly completely undone him before was not one the blonde was looking forward to.

“That’s pretty much par the course these days, Wash.  What is it?” Her voice was oddly gentle when she spoke, sympathetic almost.  He must have really looked out of sorts just then to illicit that kind of response from her.

“I suspect that the new location for the tests is the same one that houses some of Freelancer’s loose ends.” He explained, already feeling a massive headache coming on, “If you think the Director is somehow involved, one _thing_ in particular would most likely remember where his more classified research facilities capable of potentially deciphering that artifact’s secrets would be.”

It only took Carolina a few seconds to figure out what he was trying to get at, her eyes widening in shock at the younger Freelancer’s idea as her question drifted off, “You don’t mean…?”

He nodded, suddenly feeling as if he didn’t have the energy to say anything out loud.

“I thought…” She frowned then, looking at him with an unreadable expression, “I thought that he was destroyed when—“

“When he tried killing himself in my head?” Washington smiled thinly, though it was without mirth, “No.  All they put him through and they couldn’t even let him do _that_ properly.”

He was surprised by how bitter he sounded.  In reality, the technicians and doctors who prevented that action from being followed through had more than likely saved his life.  Washington didn’t know the full logistics on what would have happened, but something that was that connected to you dying in your brain would not be a good occurrence.

Though, given how utterly messed up and _broken_ he had been afterwards himself as a result of that connection, the Freelancer sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t have been better for it to have just happened.

But, Washington didn’t want to die.  It had been that sentiment alone that helped propel him through all of the trauma and pain and _bad decisions_ since then.  He had to focus on it even now, even when it was sometimes hard to do so.

Carolina focused herself back to the task at hand rather quickly, “You think there’s a high enough chance that he’ll know those locations?  Is it worth taking that risk?” She asked, her voice steady and calm as if to try to keep him grounded as well.

Before he could respond, a sudden green light came into view by Carolina’s shoulder.  Washington wasn’t really all that surprised at the sudden appearance of York’s former A.I. partner.  One of them showing up given this vein of conversation made an odd sort of sense in a way.

Besides, he’d had his suspicions that Carolina had perhaps been connected to an A.I. Fragment for a while now.  She’d just been very careful at keeping it a secret due to not trusting him earlier.

Of course, it would be Delta given who he had been friends with before.

Carolina’s ways of showing affection were subtle, but there if you paid close enough attention to them.

“Memory _is_ the key.” Delta interjected helpfully in response to Carolina’s inquiry, “It is a logical strategy.”

“Holy shit!  What the fuck is that?” Church exclaimed, having long since gone silent while Carolina and Washington had been dealing with their talk since it had been connected more with Project Freelancer.

But, apparently, the shock of a miniature humanoid hologram suddenly popping up had been enough to cause an outburst from him.

Washington almost felt bad about that, truthfully.  He knew what it felt like to be completely out of the loop, and it wasn’t particularly great.  The blonde suspected Church would be demanding answers soon enough from himself and Carolina, though he still wasn’t sure exactly which ones to give.

 _Complicated_ didn’t even begin to describe what they were dealing with at this point.

“It’s our best bet at the moment.” Washington sighed and looked back at Carolina, his resolve getting stronger with each passing second, “We need to retrieve Epsilon.”

*****

Dexter Grif hated to admit it given the usual amount of bullshit he tossed his way on a daily basis, but Sarge could sometimes pull off a miracle.

He briefly recalled Donut mentioning something four months ago about the crazy old man telling Caboose that there might be a way to retrieve Freckles’ Virtual Intelligence from the wreckage of the assault droid’s body.  But, truthfully, he’d only been partially paying attention.

Besides, Donut hadn’t even been fully sure if Sarge actually meant it or if he was just trying to comfort the distraught fighter.

Then, they’d pretty much been focused entirely on recovering after Felix’s betrayal.  The Resistance was busy preparing for whatever shit was inevitably going to hit the fan as a result of the relic being stolen.  Grif was fairly certain he’d actually been more physically active in terms of training these last four months than he had ever been since joining the Resistance

Fuck, naps weren’t just one of his favorite pastimes anymore.  Recently, they were such wondrous and rare occurrences that he wanted to relish a whole lot more of them than he could right now given what was looming over their heads.

Whenever Sarge was busy with his top secret side-project, he’d disappear behind a door that was labeled _“No one not wearing red allowed beyond this point without permission—anyone wearing orange specifically will be shot.  I mean you, Grif.”_ Which, quite frankly, was wordier than it needed to be since he wasn’t all that eager to see what insane idea Sarge was trying to bring to life.

When Sarge disappeared, Grif ended up being in charge of training the lieutenants along with the other members of the Red and Blue Teams. Though that usually ended up just being more him and Tucker, truthfully.  It made sense seeing as how Donut tended to act more as a cheerleader/confidant to the younger recruits, C.T. was supposed to be recovering ( _no way was anyone going to fucking try going over Doctor Grey’s head on stuff like that!_ ), and Caboose was often either still moping or joining in on the exercises instead.

On top of all that, the Slums resident had also been focused a lot on both Tucker and his sister given what had happened to Junior. 

So, it was more or less a surprise to him when Sarge showed up with Lopez in tow, grinning maniacally and holding an assault rifle in a tight grip.  The Red Team’s robot seemed as disinterested as he always did whenever he was roped into assisting his creator with his projects

Grif’s first reaction upon seeing the sergeant walking towards him with a weapon was to check to see where he could possibly dive for cover.  Donut called their relationship “complicated” but that really was him just trying to make it sound less like their leader had it out for his teammate.

_“Oh relax, numb nuts.  If I’d wanted to shoot you I would have done it already.” Sarge scoffed at Grif’s reaction, “Repeatedly.  While recording it so that I could then watch the whole thing over again with some popcorn.”_

_“_ _Las películas caseras_ _chupan_ _.”_ {“Home movies suck.”}

_Whatever commentary Lopez had given was, as usual, ignored._

_“That seems awfully specific, Sarge.” Donut stated quite cheerfully before the orange-armored soldier could respond, as if the younger fighter hadn’t actually heard what Sarge actually said._

_“Yeah, how often_ have _you imagined that?” Grif couldn’t help roll his eyes underneath his helmet._

_Sarge thought about it for a moment, “Do you really want to know the actual number?  If we’re not just talking this week it might take a while.”_

_Grif sighed, figuring it was probably not worth even commenting back._

_“¿Puedes_ _por favor, mueva el tema a lo largo? Yo preferiría estar en cualquier lugar pero aquí con ustedes.”_ {“Can you please move the subject along?  I would rather be anywhere but here with you.”}

_“Lopez is right.  That sort of thing needs to be discussed over a lengthy meeting where you guys talk about your feelings.” Donut interjected, “It would really help to improve team dynamics.”_

_Both Sarge and Grif stared at the pink-armored soldier smiling innocently in front of them as if he had just grown an extra head._

_“No offense, son,” Sarge finally stated, sighing slightly, “But I’d rather dump an entire vat of gasoline on my head and light a match.”_

_“And I’d not even bother showing up to the meeting.” Grif remarked._

_“You barely show up for them now.” Sarge shot back, “And that’s even without the touchy-feely hippie crap.”_

_He shrugged, “Aren’t they more productive that way?”_

_He had Sarge there.  For a moment, the man looked as though he was about to argue more with Grif, but then he paused and thought about it, “That’s true, actually.  Your mere presence is pretty much always counter-productive to even the most basic everyday activities.”_

_Grif knew he probably should be insulted, but he couldn’t help but smirk slightly at having actually had Sarge agree with him in an off-handed way during one of his tangents._

_“But, on the other hand, attending them makes you absolutely miserable and that’s a win in my book.” Sarge continued emphatically, “Hell, I’m almost tempted to take up Pretty-in-Pink’s idea just because I know it would make you just as miserable to be there as I would be.”_

_“Oh, it would be fun!” Donut chimed in, grinning, “I’d bring muffins.  With extra nuts, of course!”_

_Grif groaned, his sort-of victory apparently only short-lived._

_Lopez shook his head._

_“_ _En serio_ _. Prefiero estar prácticamente en cualquier otro lugar en este momento.”_ {“Seriously.  I would rather be practically anywhere else right now.”}

_“But, while making you miserable is always a top priority on my list, first things first.” Sarge patted the gun metal grey of the rifle with his hand, and Grif registered finally how bizarre it was to see him not carrying his much beloved shotgun, “Where’s Caboose?”_

Following that, a large group had formed while they were trying to track the blue-armored soldier down.  It was easy enough to understand why when all was said and done.

Though the talking gun form would take some getting used to, Freckles still being around in any kind of capacity was a really big surprise.  Everyone who had seen the wreckage of the mech earlier would have more than likely pegged him for truly gone.

In a way, having him back was kind of a morale boost.  Something that they’d definitely all needed during these last few months.

If _ever_ he had seen someone with a larger grin plastered on their face than the one Caboose had been sporting for the last few hours whenever he had his helmet off, Grif was hard-pressed to remember it.

Fuck, the blue-armored soldier was probably currently outshining Donut on his best days.  That was something the orange-armored fighter had thought was damn near impossible to do given the usual amount of “way too perky” his younger teammate exuded all the time.

Not that he could really blame Caboose, truthfully.  This was one time when Sarge had managed to do something Grif actually had looked forward to seeing the result of.

_“Tucker, Tucker!  Can you believe it?” The blonde had exclaimed to his teammate for what was probably the umpteenth time following the reveal, “Freckles is back!”_

_“I know, Caboose.  It’s awesome.” Tucker smiled.  For once, the dark circles under the teal-armored soldier’s eyes from all of the anxiety he was trying to conceal about Junior and what was no doubt happening in Above Ground didn’t seem to be quite as pronounced._

_From next to him, C.T. reached out and patted Caboose’s shoulder, “Congratulations, Caboose.”_

_It had been Kimball and North who had apparently found Caboose wandering the corridors where he used to play “fetch” with Freckles.  Kimball had already shot a relieved look towards Sarge for what he’d done and said her own congratulations, but a few seconds following the reveal she apparently got a message from someone that she felt needed to be handled privately._

_She excused herself from the small gathering, though the slightly surprised and serious look that had crossed over her features at the barely audible beep from her armor seemed to indicate it was definitely not a pleasure message.  Granted, Grif had a hard time thinking Kimball ever got any messages that weren’t insanely dire.  He imagined he would have keeled over from stress if he had her job for even just a day._

_The more experienced fighters (Sarge, Lopez, Grif, Tucker, and the four former Freelancers) all exchanged knowing glances, but no one said anything.  They didn’t really want to mess up the suddenly more joyful air of their younger compatriots just yet.  It was easy enough to get back into that happier frame of mind at the moment, and odds were good they would probably be glad for it soon enough._

_“Still, who would have thought Freckles could get placed in a gun of all things!” Donut stated, glancing at the assault rifle now tightly gripped in his friend’s hands with a look of complete awe.  He thoughtfully turned to his commanding officer, “Why didn’t you tell us what you’d been up to, Sarge?”_

_Sarge straightened somewhat, puffing out his chest as he boasted, “Well, Donut, it was pretty touch-and-go at times given how damaged the mech was.  The procedure was so precise and complicated that I am afraid some of you, mainly_ Grif _, would have been far too stupid to understand what I was trying to do and even attempting to so much as explain any of it would have turned his brain to mush.”_

_“You didn’t even try to not turn that into an insult this time around.” Grif rolled his eyes yet again, “Gee, thanks, Sarge.”_

_“When it works, it works.” Sarge shrugged, “My pleasure, dirt bag.”_

_“Además, él realmente no sabía lo que estaba haciendo bien. Siguió apretando botones y logró tener suerte.”_ {“Plus, he really didn't know what he was doing either.  He kept pressing buttons and managed to get lucky.”}

_“Lopez sounds pretty impressed too!” York stated from where he was watching the outcome of the surprise reunion with Tex and North, grinning._

_Grif swore the robot groaned._

_“Creo que prefiero que cuando todos me ignoran.”_ {“I think I prefer it when all of you ignore me.”}

_“Freckles!” Caboose looked down at the rifle in his hands, “It is so good to see you again!  Did you miss me?”_

_A slight electronic hiss filled the air, and the blue light illuminating the front of the assault rifle blinked momentarily, “AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN CABOOSE.”_

_Weird how even in a more compact form, Freckles’ voice still carried as though he was in his humongous killer robot body.  Perhaps he was just a “loud talker”._

_“Now you are easy to carry too!  This is just like Christmas!” The blonde exclaimed._

_North looked amused, “So I take it that would make Sarge the Santa Clause in this story?” He asked, glancing over at the older man questioningly._

_“Oh, oh!  And Lopez would be the reindeer!” York looked about ready to split from laughter at the idea._

_“Wouldn’t he be an elf instead?” C.T. asked jokingly._

_Even Tex was smirking at this particular line of thought, while Tucker and York were barely able to contain their laughter and everyone else was trying their hardest not to snicker.  Lopez did not appear to be amused though._

_“_ _Voy a_ _caminar_ _lejos ahora_ _._ _”_ {“I am going to walk away now.”}

_“I don’t know.  When was the last time Santa Claus carried a shotgun?” Tucker finally got out._

_Sarge harrumphed, as though the answer were obvious, “When he figured out that coal didn’t scare someone nearly as much as a bullet would!”_

_“That story is my favorite.” Caboose nodded his head as if what Sarge was saying made perfect sense._

_“It does seem like it would be a better motivator.” Doctor Grey piped up, “Like how showing videos of what will happen with certain diseases helps to better keep patients from touching contaminated things than simply just telling them not to would!”_

_“Exactly!” Sarge nodded, “I like the way you think, lady.”_

_“But I thought Santa was into leather now.” Donut looked absolutely confused._

_Everyone decided to ignore his remark for the moment._

_Caboose looked down at Freckles again, positively beaming, “Oh, I will be able to take you everywhere now and get you even tinier hats!”_

_His pink-armored friend’s brown eyes lit up at the remark, “I’ll help with that too!”_

That had been a few hours ago.  Everyone had dispersed to do their own thing following that.

Tex, North, and York were milling about on the other side of room, and he wasn’t quite sure where Lopez had wandered off to.  Doctor Grey had headed back towards the clinic after giving Caboose a few lollipops she’d apparently promised him.  At least that’s where he thought she had wandered off to.  Grif was more than a little scared of the good doctor, so he tended to give her space when he could.

Donut and Sarge had gone with Blue Team to the holographic “shooting range” Sarge had set up for target practice, in order to give them a chance to test out what Freckles and his new gun body could do.  Grif really didn’t like going there due to Sarge’s tendency to use “Holo-Grifs.”

Though, from what he’d gathered, apparently the older soldier had switched to a certain mercenary’s form for his targets now.  Which was almost tempting for Grif to check out later since Felix wasn’t exactly on his list of favorite people.

At the moment, he hadn’t really felt like moving around too much.  Breaks were, after all, rare and wondrous things these days.

That meant that the orange-armored soldier was left with the lieutenants, who still seemed to be chatting excitedly amongst themselves about Sarge’s surprise.

As he suspected, it had definitely done some good for morale.

Smith was positively beside himself, his whole body trembling as if he were fighting back tears, “I am so happy for Captain Caboose!  He’s going to be stronger than ever now, or my name isn’t John Elizabeth Andersmith!”

“Seriously?  That’s your full name?” Palomo glanced at him in surprise, as evidently this was the first time he’d ever heard the older man’s actual name before, “Why do you just call yourself Smith then?”

Smith sniffled and wiped at his nose, a little bit of red dotting his face as he responded, “Oh, um, Captain Caboose had trouble remembering it before.  I didn’t want to be rude.”

The private frowned, “But, _Elizabeth_?  Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“It’s a family name.” The older man stiffened, looking rather proud for a moment before slightly faltering as he added, “My parents thought I was going to be a girl at first.”

The younger man winced sympathetically, “Oh, bummer!”

Volleyball put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes at the exchange, “I bet you’re just jealous because you don’t have a more interesting name, _Charles_.”

“Hey!  That’s only, like, halfway true!” Palomo interjected, a contemplative look crossing over his face as he nodded to himself, “Maybe more like eighty percent.” He turned to stare at Smith reproachfully, “Dude, you should have told us that story earlier.  Now Smith is too stuck in my brain!”

Smith seemed surprised at first that the younger soldier wasn’t mocking him more, though he smiled in relief, “Sorry, Palomo.”

“Speaking of names,” Bitters interjected here, looking at Volleyball pointedly, “You ever going to tell us what yours actually is?”

She stuck her tongue out at him in a way that was very reminiscent of Kai to Grif.  The two had definitely been spending a lot of time together, now that he was thinking about it.

“Nice try, _Antoine_.” She stated, enunciating his name the exact same way she had Palomo’s first name before.  Volleyball promptly turned to fix both of the other female lieutenants with a significant look then.

“Don’t you guys tell them anything, okay?”

“You can count on me!” Jensen smiled, her retainer fully visible in her mouth as she did so and her freckled face lighting up mischievously, “It’s been pretty fun seeing what guesses everyone comes up with.”

“My lips are sealed.” Kai stated, winking, “Just like after that last time we played strip poker!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Palomo paused then, frowning, “Wait, what?  I can’t believe you guys played that without us!”

Kai laughed, and Volleyball looked away with an odd smile on her face.

Jensen smiled, her cheeks slightly red, “They had a private game, Palomo.”

Yep, sometimes it was better for Grif _not_ to be as aware of what was going in his little sister’s personal life.  Though he supposed he should be glad she hadn’t mentioned anything about an orgy then.  Always take what you could as a win, he found.

Palomo frowned, “Poker is fun with more people though!  Strip poker even more.” He waggled his eyebrows in Jensen’s direction, “If you catch my drift.”

“We all do, Palomo.” Bitters frowned, glancing from Jensen’s slightly redder face to Matthews’ almost completely scarlet one, “Also, we’re probably going to be needing bleach for our brains.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t come up with it first!” His friend beamed.

Bitters rolled his eyes before following with his customary, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

Palomo was still grinning as he turned his attention to Matthews then, a thoughtful look crossing over his features again, “Hey, you know, now that I think about it,” he stated, as if it had just dawned on him with all of the name talk that had been going on earlier, “Have you ever said what your full name was, Matthews?”

The lieutenants all turned to glance at the yellow-trimmed young man curiously then, particularly Bitters.

Matthews squirmed uncomfortably with all of the attention turned on him suddenly, his face flaring up even more than it had after Palomo’s comment on strip poker.

“Um…I—I’d rather not say, if it’s all the same.” He finally got out in a squeak, apparently finding a crack in the wall opposite of them utterly fascinating.

“Aw, that’s not fair!” Palomo protested.

“Oh, you suck!” Kai joked as well.  Grif recognized it as her way of trying to coax something out of a person by teasing.  She had done it to him on occasion as they were growing up too.

“Is it really that bad?” Jensen asked quietly, looking rather sympathetic at the prospect.

Matthews bit down on his lip and started playing with his fingers, a nervous habit Grif had seen the rookie do on occasion during training before if he felt he had messed up.

Bitters cleared his throat then, “Drop it, you guys.”

“I bet you want to know just as much as we do!” Palomo countered.

The multi-colored haired young man Sarge had started referring to as “Dye Job” didn’t say anything to deny it, but he glanced at Matthews again and sighed before finally stating: “It’s not that big of a deal if he really doesn’t want to tell us, Palomo.”

That caused Matthews to look up at his teammate in surprise, though he seemed still too nervous to say anything.  Bitters simply glanced away then, as if what he had said was no big deal.

Volleyball watched the exchange and sighed herself, raising her hands up in a placating gesture, “He’s right.  Everyone should only tell us personal stuff like that if they feel comfortable doing so, Palomo.”

“Oh, you’re just saying that because you don’t want to tell us your name either!” He groaned.

The blonde grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she shrugged, “Pretty much.  Yeah.”

_“Tell you what.  I’ll just call you Simmons and you call me Grif and we’ll pretend neither of us know our embarrassing first names.”_

For some reason, overhearing their talk on names caused a memory to flash through Grif’s head.  He groaned inwardly.  Thinking of Simmons was something he had been trying to actively _not_ do over the last few months, but the more he tried not to do so the more it seemed he would be reminded of the redhead.

Which royally sucked ass, given the circumstances.

He could do without the nostalgic twitches, and also without the weird bouts of worry at random intervals.  Bad enough he had them for people down here he cared about, but for someone who lived in Above Ground that he really couldn’t interact with on a daily basis?  It was enough to drive him crazy whenever it happened.

The conversation amongst the lieutenants drifted to other topics following that, and Grif watched as his sister said something that had Smith shaking his head in what seemed to be fond exasperation and had the other lieutenants bursting into laughter.  He was almost smiling himself at how easy it was for his younger sister to have made a pretty good connection with her teammates.

He was proud of her for that, and for a lot of things really.  Even if he knew she’d just mock the hell out of him if he ever tried telling her.  So they’d avoid the embarrassment and show love through teasing and mocking.  It was just how the Grif siblings rolled.  It was easy in this particular moment to not think of too much else, and he was grateful for that too.

Or it was up until Kimball was suddenly standing next to him, observing the newer recruits with a much more serious countenance.  It looked as though she was debating something inwardly, and that usually was a sign that something pretty major was about to go down.

He had a few guesses as to what it could be given how she’d responded to that message alert earlier, as well as what they’d been preparing for all this time.  But, those guesses were definitely not anything pleasant.

As much as he really didn’t want to do so, the chubbier man sighed reluctantly, “Something happened?”

The leader of the Resistance nodded, brown eyes focused on the lieutenants still as she spoke up, “We have to make our move now.” There was a sharp edge of determination in her voice as she continued, “We’re going to attack Above Ground.”

There was a long, heavy silence between them following that.  Out of the corner of his eye, Grif could see that the three Freelancers were approaching them.  No doubt they had noticed Kimball’s presence and wanted to find out what that message alert she’d received had been about.

Grif’s response was pretty to the point, “Well, we’re totally fucked.”

Kimball’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she sighed, “It doesn’t look good.  I’ll give you that.”

“But, we already knew that from the get-go, didn’t we?  It’s not like they’ve given us too much of a fucking choice in the matter.”

She blinked, seemingly taken aback slightly at that remark coming from him of all people, “No, they haven’t.”

Grif sighed, “So even if we’re going down, at least we’ll be going down swinging.”

She smiled slightly, “I think Sarge may have had more of an effect on you than you realize, Grif.”

He groaned, “God, I hope not.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Another lengthy chapter where not too much happens beyond set-up stuff. But things will start picking up in the next chapter on quite a few different fronts! I seem to struggle with set-up chapters quite a bit when writing them, so I apologize again if parts come across as weird. Also, I apologize for the lack of romance given the story focus this time around. I will definitely be making up for that with all of the pairings in due time, I promise! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading this awkward to write chapter, and I hope you enjoyed parts of it at least! :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Nineteen:

“…So that’s that.” Church finished rather unimpressively, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

He stood with arms folded across his chest, waiting for some kind of response to his declaration from the group gathered around him.

The current silence that was lingering on for minutes wasn’t exactly what he had expected.

The Above Grounder grimaced, and all of the negative emotions that had been festering in him since this whole shit fest had started boiled over into a wave of impatience and frustration: “Come on, guys!  You can at least acknowledge what I said, for fuck’s sake!”

His teammates all glanced at one another for a moment before regarding Church again, sitting before him in the private room of a restaurant.

Carolina had _insisted_ he speak of the matter to them off-base for fear of listening ears.  Also, because the fucking universe _hated_ him, it apparently happened to be a few days before Doc’s birthday.  Since the team members were off-duty, he had the _joy_ of arranging a celebration.

“That _is_ a really off-putting thing to say on someone’s birthday, especially when you first walk through the door, Church.” Doc stated after a measure of what appeared to be careful deliberation on his part, “The waiter hasn’t even come by to ask about appetizers or drinks yet!”

That all too familiar eye-twitch that seemed to occur whenever he interacted with the purple medic was starting to flare up again, “Is that really what you’re focusing on, Doc?”

The medic sniffed slightly, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “Well, it would have been polite of you to have at least said hello first.”

“As well as wish Doc a happy birthday, Church.” Sheila added, always rather formal when it came to what she considered correct social protocol.

He groaned, counting backwards from ten in his head before trying again, “You guys do realize given what I just said that meeting for the fucking birthday party off-base was just a ruse, right?”

“Still!  Polite is polite.” Doc noted firmly.

“Doc, if we survive this I _promise_ I will actually try doing yoga with you once as a birthday present.” Church tried reasoning weakly, “Also, you can tell me all about whatever bizarre New Age healing technique you’ve discovered without me yelling at you for ten minutes.”

“Oh, you’d be amazed at what they’re saying orange juice can cure now!” Doc was excited, “Only one of those things is toe fungus!”

The Above Grounder was certain two of the other things orange juice could apparently cure were supposedly gunshot wounds and broken bones, at least if Church was recalling a recent one-sided conversation with the brunette that he’d barely been paying attention to correctly.  Really, the only thing Doc’s comment had reminded him of was the reason why he tried so hard not getting injured while in Doc’s presence.

Choosing to ignore his team member’s comment entirely, Church let out a tired groan, “So, do you guys have any thoughts to add to what I had _actually_ been talking about?”

Silence again.  His three teammates shared another significant look amongst themselves, though this time there was an air of uncertainty in all of their body languages.

Finally, Simmons spoke up in his often pretty hesitant-sounding voice to ask what they were obviously all thinking: “You want us to…break into a top-secret research facility?”

“Isn’t that _really_ against the rules?” Doc chimed in moments later, chewing his lip anxiously and furrowing his eyebrows together.

The ridiculousness of that question completely threw Church for a loop, “Of course it’s against the goddamned rules!”

He sighed, trying to count backwards from ten in a vain attempt to reach his nonexistent happy place.  If it ever _had_ existed, Church was pretty sure it had burned down in a mental inferno some time ago.

“What part of the whole _breaking into a top secret facility_ plan implied we’d be doing anything remotely legal, Doc?”

The purple-wearing medic slumped a little in his seat, mumbling quietly, “I just wanted to be sure.”

There was another uneasy silence then, and the three looked amongst each other for what was probably the twentieth time since Church had spoken.

Doc and Simmons both looked extremely nervous.  Hell, Simmons looked even paler than usual which was saying something.  Despite being a robot and having limited body language as a result, even Sheila seemed more than just a bit out of sorts.

In all honesty, he could hardly blame them for their hesitancy.

“Look, guys, I know I’m asking a lot here…” He began again, trying for a more patient approach.

“Breaking into a military facility is a serious crime!” Simmons spoke up, his voice rising to that almost annoying pitch it got into whenever he was _really_ upset, “We could get arrested or...or even killed!”

 Sheila raised her hand then, polite as always, “Church, if this is about the change in my scheduled maintenance, I have no desire to involve anyone else in it.”

“Change in maintenance?” Simmons broke through his panic to stare at Sheila in surprise.

Church sighed, “Yeah, Carolina told me about what happened with your check-up too, Simmons.” He informed him, “Turns out Sheila’s gotten very similar update orders recently as well.”

Simmons frowned, looking immensely troubled, “B—but why would they…?” He began, before stopping and shaking his head and trying to start again, “And for both…?”

“It does seem like a very large coincidence in terms of timing.” Sheila muttered as well.

“It’s strange as all fuck, believe me.” Church grimaced, “As much as I’d like to be in denial still, I really don’t want you guys getting caught up in Hargrove’s bullshit.”

“Aw, you really do care!” Doc looked positively touched at that less-than-stellar declaration.

Church promptly gave him the finger, “No, I don’t and shut the fuck up, Doc.” He sighed, “I just don’t want to get killed by extension because you idiots dragged me into all of your dumbass problems.”

“That’s still probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to us.” Simmons sounded as though he was getting fucking teary-eyed.  The cyborg wiped his organic hand over his face in one frantic motion that all but confirmed that.

“That sounds more like the Church we are all so fond of.” Sheila said, the smile evident in her voice despite her not really having anything akin to a face underneath her helmet.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly.  His team may be a bunch of assholes, but the Above Grounder was pretty okay with that.  Wouldn’t have it in any other way, really.

“So, we would be doing this to figure out about the sudden secrecy with Sheila and Simmons’ check-ups?” Doc, for once, actually seemed to be following what was going on.  Perhaps the display of emotion from everyone had convinced him it was more serious than he originally believed.

“If only.” Church groaned and rolled his eyes, “That’s only just the tip of the goddamned iceberg.”

“Th—there’s more?” Simmons squeaked out again.

“Shit loads more.” He closed his eyes, “We’re also hoping to find the location of a super weapon that’s probably going to kill everyone in the Slums unless it’s destroyed.”

_“WHAT?”_

The dark-haired man didn’t have to have his eyes open to picture Simmons as he exclaimed out loud, the cyborg’s chair scraping the floor as he hurriedly stood up.  No doubt the redhead was panicking, mind probably flying to that orange-armored fatass he was so clearly crushing on and his other friends in the Slums.

Even Church had thought of those assholes more times than he’d care to admit ever since he had heard the whole story from Carolina and Washington.  He even thought of Tex, despite how fairly certain he was that even _if_ there was some attack on the Slums she would probably find a way to crawl back out.

It would probably only make her even angrier, which was a terrifying thought in and of itself.

“That was the real reason for the peace talks a little while back.  Why we had to leave them so quickly.” Church elaborated further, “Apparently, Hargrove got his hands on a really nasty piece of ancient tech left down there by the aliens.”

“Shit.” Simmons looked as if he was about to be physically ill, not that the cobalt-wearing soldier could blame the cyborg for that.

“That’s…” Doc began and stopped, swallowing nervously before starting again, “That’s horrible.  All those people…”

The medic’s hand subconsciously went to press his glasses up against the bridge of his nose.  Church never commented on the fact that the new frames of his glasses seemed to be a rather obvious shade of pink, despite all of the good snarky jokes that it could provide.

“Tell me about it.” Church let out another sigh, fixing his teammates with a level stare, “Which is why you can see that we _need_ to do this, or at least try.”

Even if the odds were very good that they would probably fail very badly, but hey!  Maybe they wouldn’t.

“Will breaking into this facility assure that we’ll find the location of the super-weapon, Church?” Sheila’s voice had taken a decidedly “down-to-business” tone, which made sense given how serious the current atmosphere was.

There was no doubt she also had people she would prefer didn’t die down there.  One of the only other humanoid robots she had ever been able to interact with being one of the prime contenders.

Before Church could respond, a very familiar voice spoke up from behind him, “We won’t know for sure until we find what we’re looking for inside the facility, Sheila.  But, it’s our best bet currently.”

Church’s cousin was standing in the doorway, looking authoritarian and imposing even in her civilian attire.

His team stood to awkwardly salute Agent Carolina.  She gave a curt nod in acknowledgement, her red ponytail bobbing slightly as she did so.

“How much of that did you hear?” Church asked her.

She glanced down at him briefly, “Just the tail end, but I take it that means you told them everything?”

He grunted, “As much as I know, anyways.”

Carolina frowned.  He wondered if she was contemplating getting annoyed with him.  When she reached a hand out, he was about fifty percent certain she was going to just make it into a fist and punch him.

Instead, she patted his shoulder awkwardly as her eyebrow raised slightly in amusement at his little bit of flinching, “For what it’s worth, Church, there is quite a bit I still don’t know about things either.”

She looked thoughtfully at the art pieces hanging around them on the walls.  Apparently the cousin of the restaurant’s owner painted them and gave a discount to his family, but Church was of the opinion it probably wasn’t a big enough one to warrant putting the crap on the walls of a place where people ate.

“Maybe we’ll all find answers soon.” The redhead stated, not really addressing anyone in particular.

“Would that be a good or bad thing?” A part of Church was almost afraid she was right for some reason.

She sighed, and for the first time in a while he thought Carolina actually looked as tired as she probably felt on the inside ever since all of the shit had begun with Project Freelancer, “Guess we’ll find that out too.”

Carolina turned to everyone then, fixing the entire breadth of the room with her imperious stare, “All right, then.  You’ve heard from Church the plan and _why_ we’re doing it.  Any complaints?”

By her tone of voice, it was obvious she wasn’t going to probably suffer any.  Still, it looked as though coercion by threats wasn’t necessary this time, as the group quickly shook their collective heads.

A thin, sort-of smile ghosted over Carolina’s features, “Good.”

Before Church really took notice of what she was doing, his cousin strolled over to Doc with a small package covered in gift wrap featuring an assortment of cats.

“Doc, this is from Agent Washington.” She said, putting the box in front of the medic, “He saw your birthday in your files and wanted to be polite since you’ll be assisting us.”

“That was really nice of him!” Doc beamed, momentarily forgetting about the serious matter they had been discussing only moments before.

Carolina nodded, “Happy Birthday then, I suppose.” She glanced down at the menu underneath the gift she’d placed in front of Doc, “Since we’re all here, I’ll pay for everyone’s meals.”

She seemed unsure at her own gesture.  Awkward even.  To be honest, it was something of a shock that she’d even offered.  But, Carolina often tended to showcase she cared in odd ways.

The Freelancer had probably felt like it was the equivalent of giving them a last meal if things didn’t go well, Church reasoned.  Admittedly, it was not the most pleasant of thoughts when viewed in that regard.

Fortunately for the medic, Doc didn’t seem to catch on at all.

“Thank you, Agent Carolina!” He exclaimed, looking absolutely touched.  The medic glanced past her at Church, smiling brightly at the goateed soldier too, “Not exactly what I’d first expected, but this was a really nice birthday surprise after all!  Thank you so much, Church!”

Just like that, the annoyed eye-twitch was back in full-force.

Leonard Church groaned, once again reminded of their earlier conversation, “Oh, fuck it.”

*****

There was a cautious, nervous energy hanging in the air as they prepped.  It was understandable, really, given what they were getting ready to do.

Historically, fighting Above Ground directly had _never_ ended well for the Slums.

The one past instance of a confrontation that actually had taken place topside was even _less_ positive to think on than other battles had been.  After all, none of the Insurrection members had even managed to make it back down to the tunnels before they had been mowed down.

Yet the Slums had still been punished for it all the same.

Granted, that wasn’t exactly the sort of thought that was helpful right about now, but no one in the Resistance could be blamed for recalling it all the same.  Especially given what they were about to walk into.  For all they knew, they were going to meet the same fate as the Insurrection.

It was no wonder that memories of that ill-fated battle were on constant repeat.

The former Freelancers had taken those who would be helping with the assault through a myriad of twisting tunnels leading away from the barracks and the Slums proper.  Dexter Grif guessed that it had probably taken them at least half of a day’s to traverse the tunnels.

Of course, Grif’s estimations of time were rocky at best as he never had bothered to get the time display in his helmet fixed when it had stopped working.  He always figured he’d get around to it sometime, so why hurry it along?

From what he could tell, none of the later corridors they had entered seemed to have been named.  In fact, given how there had been _no_ tell-tale sign of lights or power being active in the corridors at all, it didn’t seem like anyone had been traversing these particular sections of tunnels for a good long while with any regular frequency.

The few pieces of machinery lying about seemed even more ancient than the old equipment that the miners still used, and those were so old that they tended to border on “antique” status more often than not.

Once, they passed a rock formation that had sort-of resembled a skeleton in the right light and from a certain angle.  At least, it looked like one to a particular person’s overactive imagination.

Grif was _only_ just now getting his hearing back from Donut’s high-pitched shriek.

His pink-armored teammate had even somehow managed to bruise his arm despite his armor when he had latched on for dear life too.  Though that would have paled to the shotgun shell-sized hole Sarge had almost put in his skull by instinct when he had turned around to face whatever “threat” it was that Donut had seen.

Grif supposed it said something that Sarge _hadn’t_ actually shot him.  Though it was still pretty troubling that the old man had automatically targeted _him_ instead of looking around for a hostile all the same.

Here’s to hoping his leader would be able to focus more on _actual_ hostiles whenever they were firing on them later.

Eventually, the four ex-Freelancers had stopped at a rather familiar-looking type of bulkhead looming imperiously high over their heads.  The Resistance fighter had seen enough of them living in the Slums and traversing its adjacent upper level tunnels to know exactly what it was.

It was not surprising that the red, harsh lights that indicated all systems for it were still in perfect working order either, despite how dilapidated everything else getting to this point had been.

Above Ground definitely made sure all of its doors were secure and operational, just in the off-chance that someone with a really determined mind and heavy industrial equipment at their disposal couldn’t force their way through an insanely heavy series of dead bolted doors in twenty or so years.

“This is the farthest exit to Above Ground from the Slums.” Tex stated without preamble.

Sarge frowned, “I’ll say.  I’d always thought the only entrances to the Slums from Above Ground were closer to the heart of the city.”

North looked slightly apologetic at the other former Above Grounder’s confusion, “This one was built much later.  At the Council’s discretion.”

York touched his hand to the thick metal of the bulkhead blocking their path, looking thoughtful, “They kept knowledge about it on a very need-to-know basis.  Even from most in the military.”

“Gotcha.” Sarge nodded his head in understanding, “So, in other words, you guys only know about it because of your top secret freaky Freelancer training.”

York looked rather amused by the phrasing, a grim sort of smile crossing over his face, “Pretty much, yeah.”

“While they usually don’t stop the random teenager from going “slumming” or anyone else like the “Throwaways,” the entry ways _are_ somewhat monitored.  On the off-chance that someone from the Slums might figure out how to open them from their side.” North said, looking carefully at his brown-armored comrade as he added, “Especially after the Insurrection incident.”

C.T. flinched only minutely, though the blonde former Freelancer still looked apologetic for having brought it up at all in front of her.

“They tend to focus more of their attention to the entrances closer to the Slums and the heart of Above Ground for the very same reasons that you gave, Sarge.  Everyone knows about those ones.” She added in to the discussion, smiling ruefully, “Actually, I used that to my advantage.  Came down through this very tunnel when I defected.”

The red-armored soldier harrumphed, “We’re using a similar strategy now then?  Use this top secret tunnel to gain the element of surprise?”

Tex had dropped down to examine the computer terminal that would grant them access to the next door if they could enter the correct code sequence, her fingers ghosting over its surface.

“Won’t be much of one.” She muttered, “They’ll catch on pretty quick, regardless.  Especially since we’re opening the doors from this side.”

“Wow, you’re a walking ray of sunshine.” Tucker remarked, causing the woman to glare up at him.

“I’m telling you what’s going to happen.” She stated as the man in teal armor took a cautious step back just in case she decided it was worth punching him into a wall or something: “It’s best to go in fully prepared.”

“Besides, this is our best bet.” Kimball spoke up, moving to disperse the altercation before things escalated since everyone was a bit on edge, “We wouldn’t have even gotten a few extra seconds at any of those other locations, so we have to make them count.”

“Hopefully this way no civilians get dragged into things!” Donut said brightly, also trying to lessen the serious mood that had steadily fallen upon everyone, “Let’s try to look on the positives, guys!”

Kimball nodded her head in his direction briefly, shooting him a thankful look, “That’s right, Donut.  We’re already well underway with evacuating the Slums.  Just in case.”

That was a loaded “just in case” if Grif had ever heard one.  Just in case they failed and Above Ground decided to retaliate.  Just in case Hargrove had gotten his doomsday device running, though the Slums dweller doubted any of them would be at a safe distance if Above Ground did end up using the fucking thing no matter where they went.

Their current group consisted of about half of the Resistance, while the rest stayed behind to help look after the general populace of the Slums.

The plan was actually pretty straightforward.  Once their group had made it to the surface, they would serve as a distraction for the reconnaissance team to finally get the location of the relic.

Grif actually had no idea who else the reconnaissance team included beyond that Agent Washington guy and that Agent Carolina lady.  For whatever reason, it seemed like no one was volunteering to give up the identities of the other members.

“Being this far away will also help with our strategy as well.” North chimed in.

Kimball inclined her head again, “Exactly.  Since we’ll be causing them to go out of their way more to really counter us.”

There were only a few small Above Ground bases in the area that were used for training, apparently.  If the Above Ground military wanted to really attack their group hard from the get-go and nip a potential problem in the bud, they would have to move more troops in and away from other areas.

“Think the codes are going to work?” Sarge, the self-exclaimed expert on all sorts of “mechanical doodads,” had stepped up next to the black-armored Texas at this point while peering at the terminal thoughtfully as she started entering in codes.

“Should.” She huffed, not bothering to pause or look up from what she was doing to face him, “Carolina sent them.  She’s a stickler for accuracy.”

“Oh-oh!  I want to see!” Jensen spoke up excitedly, almost like a little kid, as she raced over to the two more experienced soldiers.  She paused suddenly, becoming sheepish again following her outburst, “I mean if that’s okay, sirs.”

Tex shrugged, “Suit yourself, kid.” She didn’t miss a beat before adding, “Just don’t touch anything or I will have to kill you.”

It didn’t sound like a joke at all.  It probably wasn’t, knowing Tex.  But, Jensen was way too excited at the prospect of seeing something she normally wasn’t able to get too close to from a technological stance that she didn’t even react nervously.

“Come on!” She grabbed Volleyball’s hand to pull her friend over as well.

The blonde was obviously not as interested, but she was willing to put up a front for the tanned girl’s sake given how nervous the younger lieutenant had been about everything earlier.

“Lopez, don’t you want to go check it out too?” Donut asked their mechanical teammate.

“Oh, por supuesto, sólo porque soy un robot que quiero ver cómo funciona una maldita puerta. Es por eso que estoy tan buenos amigos con la cafetera.” _{“Oh sure, just because I'm a robot I want to see how a fucking door works.  It's why I am such good friends with the coffee pot.”}_

Donut grinned, grabbing the brown-armored robot’s hand and forcing Lopez to come along with him, “Yeah, it’s exciting isn’t it?  I love watching things get inserted!”

“Echo de menos hablar con la cafetera.” _{“I miss talking to the coffee pot.”}_

John Smith ( _correction!  John Elizabeth Andersmith, apparently_ ) was talking to Caboose and C.T. about something.  The younger blue-armored soldier was tightly clutching Freckles’ decidedly more travel-friendly form to his chest as if he intended to never let it go.

Tucker swore he’d even slept with the gun the previous night, which wasn’t _as_ disturbing to Grif as it had apparently been to Tucker given all of the times he swore he’d seen Sarge cuddling his shotgun.

At least there _was_ a Virtual Intelligence in Caboose’s new best friend.  Plus, Grif was fairly positive that the blonde didn’t dream about shooting _him_ personally.

Kimball seemed understandably lost in thought, a frown falling over her features as she mulled over things to herself.  Both North and York were talking about something close by to Tex and the others at the terminal.

As Grif watched, Doctor Grey wandered over to Andersmith and company.  She was most likely trying to give C.T. some last minute medical advice in regards to not restraining her injury.

He scanned the various armor-covered bodies in search of his sister, only to spot Tucker attempting to wave him over.

Grif sighed because he didn’t really _want_ to move from his spot, but he figured it would probably count as rude not to.  Probably best not to get into a fight with a friend over something that trivial before both of you potentially headed off on a death sentence, so Grif moved over and stood next to Tucker.

His friend’s brown eyes were fixated on the door in front of them.

“You do realize we’re kind of fucked, right?” Tucker asked without preamble the second Grif was in earshot.

Grif nodded, “I said that myself when Kimball announced we were going to attack.”

“They’re sealing the doors back once we go through them.  Just to make things harder for Above Ground to retaliate on the Slums.” His friend frowned, “There’s no running back the way we came.”

Yeah, that had definitely been a rather sucky part of the plan.  Not that a whole lot of it didn’t suck, truthfully.  It was just that they didn’t have much else they could do in the current situation and that sort of made things suck a whole lot more.

“So if you want to go back, or get Kai to…” Tucker rambled awkwardly, shifting his feet.

Ah, so _that_ was what this was about.  Tucker didn’t want to see his closest friends get killed.

Given the situation, Grif could relate.  He wasn’t even going to mock him for it as one of them usually tended to do whenever the other brought up something heavy-handed, considering the orange-armored soldier felt the same.

“You know, same thing applies to you too.” He stated instead.

The dark-skinned man made a face, “You know I can’t.”

That was true.  This was the best chance his friend had to help find Junior and to bring him back safely

“Even if we stayed here, we could all end up dead anyways.” Grif sighed, “Might as well help out my asshole friends and dumb-as-fuck sister while I can.”

“Aw, thanks, man.” Tucker grinned, showcasing a genuine smile despite his concern.

It was oddly infectious.

“Anytime.” He grinned back, “You owe me a dinner and some booze if we both get back.”

“What?  No fucking way!” His friend exclaimed, shaking his head emphatically, “I’ve seen you eat, dude.  I don’t get paid enough!”

Grif gave him the finger then, Tucker responding likewise as both still grinned like idiots at the same time.

“Tucker!  Tucker!  Look at the photos Doctor Grey has for why you shouldn’t pick a scab!” Caboose called out suddenly.

Tucker groaned, putting his helmet on, “I really wish you hadn’t mentioned food just now.”

“Having a sensitive stomach is a sad, sad thing.” Grif joked, his tone taking on a pseudo-sad note as he did so.

His friend turned to leave then, casting one last look over his shoulder, “Hey, Grif?”

“Yeah?” The Slums resident raised an eyebrow as he waited for Tucker to spit out whatever he seemed to be struggling to say.

“Try not to die, fatass.”

“You too, asshole.” Grif smirked, “Kai’s already talking about how to celebrate when we get Junior back.”

Even with his helmet on Grif was fairly certain Tucker smiled a bit, the touchy sentiment over a split-second later as his friend turned to see whatever it was that his teammate had been exclaiming over.

“Dex!”

Kai was suddenly jogging up to him now from who knows where she had been before.  In a way, Grif felt both relieved and drained.  He wasn’t used to a ton of personal exchanges all at once.

“What’s up, Kai?” He asked, “Have you and the other lieutenants changed your minds and want to head back?”

Everyone in the Resistance had been rather surprised when the newer recruits had insisted on being part of the main attack force, their argument being that they probably wouldn’t be the best at coordinating the evacuation efforts.

The two Grif siblings in particular had almost gotten into another argument over it.

She made a face at the reminder, “Fuck no, bitch!”

“Kai…” He began, knowing it was pretty pointless even as her name got out.

“I’m going because my friends are going, and you are too.” She stamped her foot emphatically, looking decidedly serious once more as she had when they’d reconciled over her joining the Resistance before, “I’m going to help look out for you now too, Dex.”

He sighed, feeling exasperated and oddly proud all the same.  She certainly had grown up to be assertive and stubborn.  That’s for sure.

Knowing that she’d put a lid on that potential argument, she grinned, “Besides, we have to help Tucker find Junior, right?” she asked, waiting expectantly for the confirmation she knew would follow.

He sighed once more, “Right.”

She grinned, changing topics quickly to whatever it was she’d probably run over here to say in the first place before her brother had sidetracked her, “Palomo was talking about throwing a party after all of this and we were talking about party favors.”

“Uh-huh.” He couldn’t help but be amused by Kai’s random thought processes.

She looked absolutely serious, knitting her brows together, “Do you think we should do a survey to figure out everyone’s favorite edible condom flavor?”

“Yeah, yeah…” He paused, her words sinking in a moment later, “Wait, what?”

Now it was Kai’s turn to look exasperated as she informed him matter-of-factly, “It’s a legitimate question, Dex!  What if we don’t get flavors someone likes?  Or what if they have an allergy to the ones we get?  That would be fucking rude!”

“Goddamnit, Kai!” Leave it to his sister to knock the worry right out of his head.

“I already know Volleyball’s favorite.” Kai winked, looking over his shoulder to where the woman in question was standing and giving a small wave in their direction that she promptly returned.

“Should I even ask what’s going on with you two?” Grif asked, having picked up a definite trend now in their more recent interactions.

Though, truthfully, he didn’t actually mind it at all.  Volleyball was a pretty nice girl, and certainly so far the only potential romantic partner his sister had ever had that he hadn’t wanted to strangle at some point.  Hopefully, given that, it would be a more long-term relationship.

She grinned, “Same thing that’s happening with you and shy guy you’re married to.”

He sighed.  Of course, she’d have to mention Simmons _now_ of all times.

“Kai, I’ve told you before—”

She smiled nostalgically and cut him off, “You don’t have to hide it from me, Dex.  I can tell.  I _like_ Simmons.  You two always had fun together.” She gave a sage nod of her head, “I think you should think on that some more when you have the time for it.”

Grif frowned, not quite sure what to say whenever she seemed to make a little more sense than usual.

But, given the current state of things as they were…

“It doesn’t matter even if I think about it later, Kai.” He finally forced out, “Because _right now_ I really hope neither of us run into Simmons again.”

Seriously, what would that be like, all things considered?  He didn’t want to kill Simmons, or end up getting killed by Simmons or one of his teammates in a fight.

Besides, the Slums might not have much longer no matter what they did.  Simmons had a fucking _life_ he could still live.  Grif didn’t want to see that disappear along with everything else.

Kai remained silent for a long while before nodding her dark-haired head again in understanding, “Okay, but promise me.  Afterwards?”

“We’ll see.” He stated, noncommittally.

“We could all check out Above Ground together one day!” She grinned at the prospect.

Just like when they had been little, and even when things were tough and bleak, his little sister could still make him smile a bit just by being her naively enthusiastic self.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly back despite himself, “Maybe.”

“Then you two can _finally_ get at it!” She continued, completely ruining the moment seconds later.  His little sister definitely had a knack for that too: “Just ask me for any advice you might need, Dex!”

“Goddamnit, Kai!”

He could feel his face actually get fucking warm.

Good to know that even if he did survive this whole thing, Grif was fairly certain that his sister would end up unintentionally killing him one of these days through embarrassment.

*****

Waiting for a series of doors to open just so you could walk into a situation where you were most likely _not_ coming back wasn’t exactly a fucking highlight in Bitters’ book.

Granted, sitting and waiting down below for the same thing hadn’t exactly been a highlight either.  So, he ended up choosing the lesser of two evils instead, or whatever terminology was more fitting for this particular type of scenario.

Besides, it wasn’t like the Resistance fighter was just apathetic and uncaring about the situation.

No.  He was actually fucking pissed as all hell.

Might as well get the chance to blow something up along the way too, right?  Especially if…

“We’re all going to fucking die.”

“ _Dude.”_   Palomo made a face at him from where he had been crouching close to the ground, having just damn near broken Bitters’ brain on the topic of flavored condoms.

_“I think I know what your favorite flavor would be, Bitters!  Any idea on Matthews’?”_

Why the fuck would his friend think that Bitters would even _know_ that?  Besides, just what flavor did Palomo think was his favorite?  …Most importantly, did Bitters honestly _want to know_ the answers to either of those two questions?

His childhood friend had apparently decided following his query that sitting and counting the different sized cracks in the floor was a helpful diversion, “You’re lucky Smith didn’t hear you say that.”

Bitters winced, not having needed the reminder.

“Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

Lieutenant John E. Andersmith had gotten a bit tense as of late given the severity of the situation they were in.  Any remark from Bitters that constituted as slightly negative was met with a smack upside the head from the butt of a rifle, as Bitters was “disturbing morale”.

Bitters’ remarks were probably more than just slightly negative, if he was being really honest with himself.

Still, the fact that his friend usually found it pretty hilarious didn’t help any.

“I’m just saying!” Palomo grinned and stood up.  The expression somehow reminded Bitters of when he’d find Palomo sitting outside of their apartment complexes after the boy’s parents would lock the door on him.

That grin didn’t change much even after Bitters’ family unofficially adopted the neighbor kid.  If anything, it had just become wider.  Something Bitters wouldn’t have even thought possible back then.

The slightly older lieutenant rolled his eyes, his irritation evaporating a bit in light of that memory, “Why don’t you help with the evacuation effort instead, Palomo?”

Truthfully, the idea of the closest person he still had to any sort of family getting gunned down wasn’t a prospect he was too keen on.  Even if Palomo could be annoying at times.

He’d tried to convince many of the others to do the same.  Actually, that was one of his main reasons for constantly spouting negatives about the mission.

Kaikaina was surprisingly adamant about going, though he supposed he could understand that given Tucker and Grif’s involvement.  Volleyball had been rather stubborn too when he tried talking to her about it.  The eye roll she’d given him really had been something.

He had thought for sure maybe he could get through to Jensen, but the maroon-trimmed younger lieutenant had been pretty insistent that she was going if he and the others were.  Her lisp had gotten even more pronounced as she became more emphatic on the subject, and Bitters had actually been a bit nervous when the girl had gotten into his personal space with the affirmation that all of them should do it or none at all.

Not that he’d admit it out loud, of course.

Bitters hadn’t really bothered with Andersmith because he was definitely old enough to make that type of decision on his own.  Besides, he’d had his ass kicked more times by the older recruit than he’d care to admit recently.  Apparently Andersmith was taking the training with Sarge very seriously.  Who knew?

As for Matthews…well, Matthews wasn’t even attempting to talk to him about it.  Seriously, if Bitters even so much as _tried_ Matthews would get up and walk away.  Maybe that was for the best given how he suspected the topic could actually start a rather nasty argument with his roommate, but still.

If he could, Bitters would have at least forcibly dragged Matthews, Palomo, and Jensen away.  But, they apparently all had the same fucking death wish he had and it kind of pissed him off even more.

At least this way he’d be able to shoot at something and vent a little before he died.

“That’s cool and all, but not really my thing.” Palomo said after giving Bitters’ question some thought, “Besides, I’d probably try flirting with all the ladies and get my ass kicked again.”

Well, at least he’d learned something from that whole fiasco recently when Jensen had blindsided him with a wrench after he had made some ill-conceived comments regarding her.

“Besides, you and everyone else are going and I…” His friend paused and frowned, “I’d rather not be alone if something does happen.”

Bitters swallowed nervously, at a loss as to what to say.  It was rare for Palomo to look at things seriously at all.  The only times he’d ever done so was following the massacre at Level One and when his two bunkmates had died.

Awkwardly, Bitters clasped a hand on his shoulder, “We’re all going to be fine, Palomo.”

It was probably a huge fucking lie, but more than anything Bitters wanted to believe it just then.  If only for Palomo’s sake, and for the sakes of all of the other apparently suicidal morons he considered friends.  He even _finally_ started to understand why Andersmith had gotten so bent out of shape by his remarks too.

“Oh, I know!” Palomo beamed, suddenly back to his carefree usual self, “We’re all like fucking superheroes, you know?”

“Superheroes.  Right.” Bitters rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smile back slightly.

“Dude, I’m serious!” Palomo looked thoughtful, “Actually, totally forgot about it until now, but Jensen asked about my favorite comics earlier.  Didn’t know she was into that stuff.”

Apparently, after the whole wrench-to-the-face incident, the two younger recruits had started conversing more as friends.  Having someone actually call him out on his behavior had at least helped Palomo interact better with their female comrades in general.

If anything, he was really trying to go out of his way to be genuine friends with them now instead of just practicing very ill-conceived pick-up-lines on them.

“Can I borrow some of yours to show her later?” Palomo asked, “I kept bumming them from you when we were little, so I don’t actually have any.”

“Sure.” Bitters nodded, “I’ll transfer a few to you later.”

If they both got out of this safely, he’d be more than glad to even.

“Thanks!” Palomo grinned, then paused before looking contemplative again, “I should just let Kaikaina ask her and Volleyball about the condoms.  Right?”

That warm and fuzzy moment they just had?  Yeah, it lasted for about a good two seconds.

 _“Yes.”_ Bitters rolled his eyes exasperatedly, “Unless you want to get brained again.”

“Not really.  It hurt a fucking lot!” His friend laughed.

Bitters groaned, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

“Aw, you know you love me!” He stuck his tongue out at him.

Bitters couldn’t help but groan again.  Sometimes he really wished he had more friends.

“I’m going to go see if Captain Tucker needs anything.” Palomo stated, his dark eyes looking around for a few seconds before turning to Bitters again, “You might want to talk to Matthews though.  See if he’s okay?  Last time I saw him, he was looking pretty sick.”

Bitters nodded slightly, knowing that technically he was being asked that not only on account of Matthews being his teammate but also his roommate.

“Ask him about the condoms too!” His friend said innocently enough, “It’s probably better if you do than me or Kaikaina!”

Seriously, where _was_ bleach when you needed it?

Matthews was off to the side of the tunnel, his eyes focused on the group accessing the terminal with obvious interest.  Palomo was right: the auburn-haired soldier _did_ look more than just a little green behind his glasses, and he was fidgeting nervously.  His hands were up in front of him again too in that posture he often took up when he was feeling anxious.

Honestly, Bitters was rather surprised he wasn’t pacing around like a nervous wreck as he would sometimes do in their room.

Bitters stood next to Matthews in mutual silence for a few moments, not really sure if Matthews even knew he’d come up to him given his focused attention elsewhere.

The slightly older lieutenant finally spoke up, hoping that if he worded his remark carefully it wouldn’t cause a massive blow-out between them right before the fight: “I was kind of surprised you volunteered for this part.”

Matthews flinched slightly, hands dropping to his sides as a suddenly annoyed look crossed over his face, “W—why?  You did!  Everyone else did too!”

Bitters said nothing, kicking himself mentally for even bringing it up at all given that he’d suspected this would be the reaction he’d get.

“I—I know you’re trying to get everyone to change their minds, but if you’re still going that isn’t fair!”

Matthews seemed to realize what he had said moments later, and his face turned bright red.  He looked anywhere else but at his roommate, hands fidgeting again.  After a few minutes, he finally seemed to decide that the rock wall of the tunnel would be great to have a staring contest with.

Bitters stared at Matthews’ ears, noting how red they were as well.  He wasn’t quite sure what to do at this point.

“We’re a team!  So, like it or not…we—we’re in this together.” Matthews finally collected himself enough to say.

Bitters tried arguing, “Yeah, but—“

“Besides,” Matthews cut him off and rambled on, apparently wanting to rush past all of the awkwardness of the last few seconds entirely, “Captain Grif and Sarge might need help too.”

Figures his teammate would fall back to his sucking up tendencies.

Bitters didn’t know if he should be more grateful that it hadn’t gotten into a fight, or more annoyed by Matthews’ penchant for being a kissass to really questionable authority figures.

“You _do_ realize if Captain Grif so much as smells a burrito while out on the field he’ll abandon us, right?” He asked, only partially joking.  The older man’s food drive _was_ incredible.

“That—that’s not true!” Matthews shot right back at him, glaring.

He’d actually gotten the auburn-haired soldier to look at Bitters directly instead of the damn wall again.  Good.  He smiled to himself at the little victory.

Without thinking about it, Bitters reached out and clasped his hand around one of Matthews’ wrists.

His grip was not really tight or constraining, and the glasses-wearing rookie could easily pull his wrist out enough just by giving a slight yank if he wanted to.  Subconsciously, Bitters was just trying to keep Matthews focused on him.

“Wanna bet?” He asked his roommate.

Matthews said nothing in response, instead staring down at his outstretched arm and Bitters’ hold on his wrist.  He didn’t try to break away, but he looked as confused by the action as Bitters was starting to suddenly feel.  That left the two of them standing there rather awkwardly, not quite sure what to do next.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

They were interrupted from said awkwardness by Palomo shouting rather loudly from farther away.

His friend was counting something off on his hand, a look of concentration that almost bordered on comical crossing over his face, “How come Red Team gets more members?”

“What are you talking about?” Andersmith looked rather confused next to him.

“It’s true!  For this mission Red Team has Sarge, Captain Grif, Donut, Lopez, Volleyball, Jensen, Matthews, and Bitters.” Palomo counted off again using their names as he went, “Blue Team has Captain Tucker, Captain Caboose, Smith, me, Kaikaina, and C.T.”

“Don’t forget about Freckles.” Caboose stated quietly.

“CORRECT, CAPTAIN CABOOSE.” The gun spoke up to reaffirm his presence.

“Right, and the cool-as-fuck talking gun.” The dark-skinned rookie amended, “But, that’s still only seven to their eight.”

“Wow.  I’m sort of surprised you can count that high.” Volleyball remarked jokingly in the silence that followed, resulting in a few snickers amongst the gathering crowd.

He pouted, ignoring the joke, “But, why do they get more people?”

“Because that’s the way Nature intended it.  To further demonstrate that we Reds are vastly superior to you in every way, we’ve been blessed with more numbers.” Sarge stated matter-of-factly.

“Uh, it’s only one more person, guys.” York spoke up, though it seemed as if he was trying to not double-over laughing at how serious Sarge had taken the question, “Chill.”

“Besides,” Sarge noted in a conciliatory tone to Palomo, “The Red Team is unfortunately cursed with having Grif as a member.  That’s like removing one decent soldier and replacing him with three grossly inadequate ones.”

“Hey!” Grif’s voice protested from off to the side.

“Better make that four.” Sarge amended quickly.

“Thanks for the inspirational moment right before the fight, Sarge.”

“I did say “grossly inadequate” instead of “useless”, didn’t I?” the older man shook his head sadly as if disappointed by the orange-armored fighter’s protests, “Learn to hear a pep talk when it’s given, dirtbag.”

There was a beeping noise by the door and all talking stopped, the massive gate moving to the side slowly.

The eerily dark corridor was bathed in a dim sort of red light beyond, leading to another looming bulkhead on the opposite side.

Tex stood up and put her hands on her hips, nodding her head satisfactorily at her handiwork.

“All right.  The next series of doors shouldn’t take nearly as long to get through.” She stated, glancing at everyone over her shoulder, “Let’s get our asses in gear.”

A more serious mood settled over everyone as they advanced, Kimball taking the moment to turn around and address them once more.

“There’s no going back once we’re up there.  We’ll be completely cut off in enemy territory.” She began, “Stay as close to your team as you can.  When the pull-back order is given, do _not_ hesitate to get to the safe location coordinates.  Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded, and she put her helmet on, “We all have a reason why we’re fighting.  Don’t forget that.”

For a few seconds, there was silence before Palomo tentatively stated into the somber atmosphere, “Should we…sing a song or something?”

Tucker sighed, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

“I love singing!” Caboose chimed in happily, looking down at his weapon, “I sing to Freckles all the time, don’t I?”

“AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN CABOOSE!”

Tucker groaned, but chose to say nothing.

Bitters let go of Matthews’ wrist then.  Thankfully, given Palomo’s outburst and the door opening, no one had noticed.  Or, even if they had, no one had chosen to say anything about it.

Matthews’ hand fell to his side, but only for a moment before he put on his helmet once again as well and the two teammates went to join their comrades in moving forward.

Bitters glanced over at Matthews once more, “You heard Kimball.  Stick close.” He paused there, catching himself before he said something else that probably could have led to another awkward moment, “Stay with the team and try not to get shot.”

He could just picture his friend’s ears getting red again underneath his helmet at that as he stated rather empathically, “S—same to you!”

Bitters nodded, glancing around at everyone else and desperately trying to ignore his ever growing sense that they were all fucked.

*****

There was very little to be said on Felix’s thoughts when it concerned _not_ doing something.  He was a simple kind of guy, after all.

He loved things like leading people on while undermining an entire population in the process.  Or killing some more people ( _hopefully_ lots _, really.  Let’s be honest here_ ).  Or getting to blow shit up.

If he could get paid a shitload of money for doing those things that he loved, he was pretty much content.

But, doing absolutely _nothing_ for fucking months on end while stuck on glorified guard duty while Hargrove tested out his new toy?

That was practically a punishment!

The steel and orange armored mercenary hadn’t even seen hide nor hair of any of the remaining Freelancers around the Mother of Invention.  So, he couldn’t even try to get under their skin while they were holed up there.

The leader lady and mope-y agent were keeping out of the way.  Hell, even that violet-armored chick whose buttons he had the feeling he could push easily enough wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  Wyoming seemed to be oddly absent too, which was bit odd given how they were on the same payroll.

The Chairman better give him a huge bonus when all was said and done to make up for it.  Or, better yet, let him press the button whenever that super-weapon was finally pointed at the Slums.

Felix smiled inwardly at the thought, not wanting the other two mercenary members currently checking over their equipment in the locker room to see.  People were apparently “creeped out” whenever he smiled out of turn at the thought of killing things while tossing his knife in the air.

Whatever.  Fuck them.

He thought their names were Jackson and Zachary Miller, but it was hard to tell who was who in their group of mercenaries sometimes since everyone else tended to like wearing the same steel armor.

No bonus points for originality there.

He could care less for Zachary Miller half the time, but Jackson was halfway decent.  His team could at least be trusted to follow through on missions with minimal fuss if Felix or Locus were predisposed elsewhere.

Yeah, it was true that would be a bit of a let-down to not be there personally to see all of those gullible Resistance idiots get killed.  But Felix was okay with that, so long as he could still imagine how they looked when they died.

Typical Locus, though, would of course have to walk in just as he was picturing the imaginary scene in his head.  His asshole partner really was a fucking killjoy sometimes just by fucking existing.

“I’m _bored_ , Locus.” Felix stated, hoping for a reaction from the other mercenary.  If nothing else, it would satiate some of his boredom.

It was a game, really, to see just how much he could push the stoic soldier façade his partner tried to uphold all the time.  Seeing the cracks and remembering where to poke next always made the prospect of future interactions even more entertaining.

“Then do something and stop complaining.”

Figures that Locus would respond like that.  He tried very hard not to rise to any bait at first, though that usually only pushed Felix to try more.

“Weapons maintenance again?” Felix asked him as the man sat down, taking apart one of his guns, “I’m pretty certain your weapons could fire themselves now with how anal you are about them.”

Methodical.  To the point.  That was Locus in a nutshell.  Total opposite to how Felix tended to approach things.

“We’re soldiers, Felix.” Locus was definitely taking things in a precise manner right now, “Being prepared is a part of that.”

“You don’t think I am?” Felix smirked dangerously, tightening his hold on the hilt of his knife.

Yeah, he approached most things in their profession very differently from Locus.  Still, if anyone implied he didn’t have his shit together, it would be a fatal mistake on their part.

“Then act like it.”

Felix barked out a laugh, “ _Right_ , because clearly we’re all about the code of conduct of soldiers here.”

Locus stared at him through his darkened helmet, and Felix glared back.  Being stuck underground for so long, he’d forgotten how great it was shoving stuff like that in his partner’s face.

Jackson had the sense of mind to excuse himself then.  Miller seemed to be debating it for about a second more before standing up.  Clearly, the merc needed to adjust his sense of survival.

Before anything could be said or done further though, Locus spoke up and changed the atmosphere completely, “The assistant to the Council is making inquiries.”

“Oh, that Doyle guy?”

Felix frowned, only knowing the name briefly from earlier personnel reports he’d been forced to read.  Couldn’t say the guy had left much of an impression on him from those records though, but he supposed anyone looking into sensitive matters wasn’t exactly ideal at the moment, “Should we kill him?”

It would at least give him something to do, though Felix doubted it would take that long.

“We haven’t received orders yet.” Locus paused, “Doing so now given his role might prove problematic.”

Right.  Because a secretary who had direct access to all of the Council members and their business suddenly dying would create speculation amongst the group itself.  Hargrove was still waiting for the right time to officially deal with his detractors on the Council.

“So he’s on the _Observe For Now_ list.  Fine.” Felix sighed in annoyance that Locus had even bothered mentioning it then, “Get one of Jackson’s people to monitor him.”

There was a sudden beeping coming from the orange and steel helmet sitting on the seat next to him, a sound that Felix knew very well what it meant.  They’d attuned their systems to the Above Ground security computers, after all.

His dark-haired head perked up slightly at the signal that one of the tunnels had apparently been opened.  From the other side.

Felix grinned.  Leave it to _Vanessa_ not to disappoint in the end.

Slipping into the ensuing chaos that followed would be easy, and it certainly would help to stave off boredom even more than just a random kill might.

“Are you coming?” He asked Locus as his helmet slipped into place and sealed shut.

There was no doubt in his mind that his fellow mercenary was impassively staring at the notice flashing along his helmet’s visor.

“No.” His steel and green armored partner continued taking apart the gun he’d been working on earlier, “This might be a ruse.”

Leave it to Locus to think of something like that.  Felix supposed it could be some kind of diversionary tactic now that he thought about it, but hell!  He’d still have people to kill in the meanwhile, right?

No point in sitting on the sidelines on the off-chance that something else might also happen.  It might not, and then he’d just regret wasting time all the more.

Besides, Locus was more than capable of handling something else should it come up while he was enjoying himself.

“Fine.  Stay here and see if anything else pops up then.” Felix shrugged indifferently at Locus’ remark, “I’m going to have some fun before the soldiers kill everyone.”

He headed to the door, not even looking back as he called out, “Miller!  You’re up too.”

“Of course!” The lower ranked mercenary in steel armor trotted along after him with almost eager steps.

At the most, Miller would get some more kills under his belt.  At worst, he’d prove himself a liability and Felix would kill him along with ( _hopefully!_ ) a shitload of his “old friends” from the Resistance.

Either way, he’d be good.

*****

Agents Carolina and Washington, along with a small glowing green figure that Carolina had hastily introduced as Delta without much in the way of further explanation, had been silent for quite a while.  Richard “Dick” Simmons watched as the three clustered together, listening intently to some hidden communication channel.

Despite not having much of an introduction, it was easy enough to tell that Delta was an A.I. if you were well-versed in technological fields of study.  Simmons could scarcely believe it, though it made a lot of sense given how advanced Freelancer technology was.

He had been struck by an odd sense of déjà vu when seeing Delta for what was technically the first time.  It had actually reminded the cyborg quite a bit of all the odd green flashes he’d seen over the cyan-armored Freelancer’s shoulder before.

How long exactly _had_ she been keeping quiet about Delta’s existence?

Not that that was the only strange thing going on.  Watching the Freelancers and the A.I. listening in on the hidden communications channel was a bit odd too.  It wasn’t as if any of the other people involved in this mission could even listen into the private channel through their armor, unless they were given access to it.

They could probably try hacking it, which he supposed either himself or Sheila could probably do if given enough time.  Doing anything that could potentially cause Agent Carolina in particular to get angry with them, or to think that they were somehow implying some kind of question to her authority, wasn’t exactly something any remotely sane person would attempt.

Still, they could easily have just stood away from one another instead of huddle together in a group.  Simmons supposed that it was some kind of a throwback to Project Freelancer, and as an outsider he just didn’t understand.

It was absolutely and utterly _bizarre_ to think that all six of them ( _seven, counting Delta’s holographic form_ ) were next to a secret research complex, one that none of them beyond the two Freelancers and the A.I. had even known existed before.

They were currently hiding in the bushes, near a side entrance: about to become traitors to Above Ground.

It was more than just a little nerve-wracking too, given the sheer amount of goosebumps prickling Simmons’ still organic skin underneath his armor.  Not to mention there was a growing nausea building up in the pit of his stomach, which was a mixture of organic and mechanical parts now thanks to the surgery.  The cyborg almost wished it had been replaced entirely just because of his tendency to want to throw up when fully flustered.

Truth be told, this was definitely not what Simmons had planned when he’d decided to stay in the military after his forced training had been completed.

But, both his logical side and his conscience argued, given everything they knew what choice did they really have now?

This wasn’t even just about all of the really bizarre stuff that apparently may or may not be going on involving him and Sheila either.  Simmons was fairly certain on his end it was still more than likely just a fluke given that he had still been in the system because of the cybernetic soldier program.  But, Sheila?  That worried him a bit more because she was his teammate.

It wasn’t even just about the darker side of Project Freelancer, the one that the more he found out about the more he wished he honestly didn’t know.

Now _thousands_ of innocent people were in danger too!  Including quite a few people he knew personally.

Including Grif.

It was nearly enough to make him want to hyperventilate, to be _anywhere_ but here.  But, he couldn’t.  Not when images of Grif, of Kai, of their friends, of Sheila, and of Agent Washington flashed through his head.

Speaking of the Freelancer, Agent Washington appeared just as thrilled to be at their current location as Simmons felt given the visible tenseness in his body language.  There had been a pained grimace the last time he’d seen the older blonde’s face before it was hidden behind his helmet, but Agent Washington commendably still plowed through without a single remark.

For once, even without any lungs, the breathing exercises Doc had kept trying to suggest to him for calming techniques actually seemed to be helping.  They were helping to keep him grounded, at least a little bit.

Focusing on them and the images of his friends that kept flashing through his mind was helping to remind the redhead why they were doing something that every protocol he’d ever read screamed at him was treason.

Simmons shot the purple medic a grateful look, even though he knew Doc wouldn’t see it.  His friend was humming to himself and glancing around them as if simply observing the landscape, but there was a lot of nervous energy visible in his posture too.

It felt like the minutes were being dragged out, and Simmons wondered if they would just be standing almost stupidly outside the complex until a patrol walked by and spotted their contrasting colors trying to blend in with the very green shrubbery.  Truthfully, only Sheila’s armor and possibly Washington’s would remotely serve as a camouflage in this terrain.

Finally, Carolina stood up straight and dropped her arm back to her side.  The redhead had previously lifted it to her helmet while listening to the private channel, so that was a good indication that they were about to take some kind of action.

“They’ve engaged.” She announced to the group who hadn’t been privy to the channel, “Let’s move.”

“So, they’re fighting now?” Simmons asked tentatively, “The Resistance got to the surface safely?”

It was rare to think of them stepping foot on Above Ground.  Understandably, the Resistance had never attempted to do so before even during the more intense batches of fighting given what had happened to the Slums after the Insurrection had attacked topside.  Their doing so now definitely helped to showcase just how desperate this whole situation was.

Simmons wondered if Grif was one of the fighters who had gone on the mission.  He’d always dreamed of showing the Slums dweller Above Ground, ever since they’d first met as teenagers all those years ago.  But he always wanted that to be in peaceful circumstances.

It had only seemed fair, after all, given how much of his home Grif had shown him.  Truthfully, Simmons imagined Grif’s face when he saw the sky for the first time at what probably counted as an embarrassingly high frequency.

The idea that the tan man’s first exposure to the surface could literally end up being his last, and that it would be mired with fighting and death was…well, thinking about it now only made the nauseous feeling come back again in full force.

What if he didn’t get to see Grif again?  He really wanted to believe he would, even if it was just to yell at him for being a fatass.  Or to hear the Slums resident talk about how Simmons really should try to nap more.

He even wanted to hear Kai tell him raunchy jokes just to see him get riled up, to even have her act as an oddly supportive cheerleader for whenever he did finally work up the courage to just _say something_ about all of his feelings towards her brother.

If he couldn’t see them?  If he couldn’t see _Grif_ again?  Simmons wasn’t sure what he’d do.  He didn’t want to think about it at all.

Everything they were doing now had to succeed.  Everything.  That was all there was to it.

Trying to get out of his thoughts, the cyborg looked around the area.  The door of the side entrance looked to be pretty average fare for a military complex.  The heavy metal was sealed shut, with a small side panel for access.

Only two of the lights on the panel were even flashing: a dim blinking of red intermittent with green that seemed to indicate that even the auxiliary power for the locks was barely operational.

Simmons frowned, not quite sure why the outside appearance of the facility looked to be almost dilapidated.  Especially since there was a rather odd sheen throughout the place when he peered at it with the red-tinted vision of his artificial eye.  Was the damned thing not functioning correctly at all anymore?

…Or was something else going on here?  Was the place designed to look abandoned on purpose?

The amount of work that would probably go into a ruse like that was sort of mind-boggling, given how it would mean repurposing the entire way a military building’s infrastructure was generally set up.  It would mean that whatever was inside was something that the military _really_ wanted to have appear like it didn’t exist at all.

It was a good sign that they were probably on the right track if that were what was going on, but he couldn’t help but suppress a shiver at the thought all the same.  The possibility was more than just a little unnerving.

The cyborg was torn between hoping it was a fluke and not, given just how far everyone had gone on this hunch alone.

Delta appeared to float over to the locking mechanism, observing it for a split-second more before turning to address Carolina, “I can bypass the security lock, but it will most likely prove exceedingly more difficult for any other doors we encounter later on.”

She nodded, and from the slight shrug in her shoulders it seemed as if the red-haired soldier had assumed as much already, “That’s fine, Delta.  We’ll just have to deal with those as they come up.”

Before turning back to the door, the A.I. Fragment glanced over at the others huddled around him, “Private Simmons?  Sheila?  Would you mind assisting?”

“Uh…” Simmons glanced over at Sheila, who had also tilted her head quizzically towards her human teammate in surprise at the request, “Sure.”

Despite the bizarre request, they both complied and stepped forward to join Delta by the door.  They were probably technically the mechanical experts of their team, but that was probably not saying a whole lot.

“Attempt to access the lock manually from this panel while I do so from inside.” Delta instructed calmly.

He disappeared into the panel without any further explanations.  It was true that both Sheila and Simmons _had_ done similar work in training and out on the field before.  Granted, not under the insane amounts of pressure they all now had working against them.

Still, given that Delta most likely could do things a lot quicker on his end directly, Simmons wasn’t quite sure why he would ask for their help.  Maybe he was just trying to make the others feel more included since they were pretty much all out of the loop beyond Washington and Carolina?

He wasn’t quite sure if an A.I. would think about such things or not, though Delta seemed quite courteous so he supposed it was possible.  Sheila always tried to be inclusive of her teammates even when it was obvious her skills were much stronger too.  She was often forcing Church to interact with everyone in particular.

The two of them worked as instructed, attempting the usual button sequences for bypassing security locks.  A lot of the time using tools and taking the entire panel apart was completely unnecessary if you knew _how_ the lock worked.

In a matter of moments, whether from their end or Delta’s, the flashing red light turned green and the flashing green light turned red.  Both became solid specks on the console to indicate that lock had been disengaged.

The door slid open.  Delta emerged from the panel seconds later as if he was a ghost coming through the wall.  A brief aura of greenish-tinted light in his shape remained in Simmons’ vision around the panel for a few seconds.

The A.I. glanced at the panel and then at the two of them thoughtfully, nodding his head slightly, “It appears our theory is quite plausible, Agent Carolina.”

Carolina nodded, and it was easy enough to picture the contemplative frown forming on her face as she glanced from the door to the two soldiers under her command, “Possibly.  We’ll need more evidence first.”

“Theory?” Sheila inquired.

“As to the odd interest in your and Private Simmons’ continued maintenance, Sheila.” Carolina was looking over her weapons once more, not looking at either of them anymore.

“The two of you don’t care to elaborate on that for everyone else at the moment, I take it?” There was an almost exasperated note to Washington’s voice, and Simmons glanced over at him sympathetically.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he was extremely curious himself, as well as more than just a little unnerved by the whole thing.  But, he knew getting information out of Agent Carolina in particular was nearly impossible if she didn’t think it was time to divulge something.  None of them save for Church had really known her for as long as Washington had.

He could imagine that tight-lipped side to Carolina’s personality had been something Washington had seen quite a bit throughout their time together in Project Freelancer too.

“We’re hoping to be able to access files about it directly soon.” Delta informed Washington and the others, motioning towards the building behind them, “By my calculations, they should be here as well.”

Washington took in a deep breath then, “The cybernetic enhancement program was also developed by the Director.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a direct statement.  It was said is such a way that it almost sounded as if the Freelancer had finally pieced something together, and that he was almost kicking himself for having overlooked it earlier.

Simmons glanced between him and Carolina.  Even though the situation was definitely directly involving him, he was unsure of what to say.  The Director was the architect of Project Freelancer, after all.  It still felt like he was horribly on the outside of this whole thing.

No doubt this is what he got for jumping into something like the cybernetic enhancement program without really thinking things through, for just being caught up with his emotions and wanting _anything_ to just distract himself from them.

The cyborg was mildly surprised that Church hadn’t spoken up yet in his typical Church fashion.  He tended to love rubbing it into people’s faces when they made a huge mistake.  However, when he glanced over at the strangely silent “unofficial” leader of Captain Flowers’ squad, he was surprised by how uneasy and almost troubled his body language was.

It was as if Church was mulling things over in his head, just taking in everything that was being said right now.

“The initial development phases, yes.” Delta stated in response to Washington’s comment, “Though there were no doubt modifications made by Chairman Hargrove specifically following events with Freelancer.”

“No doubt.” Church finally spoke up, sounding more strained than angry as he snarled out, “Why don’t we just get moving so that we can finally figure out what the fuck is going on?”

Pointedly, he was avoiding looking at either Simmons or Sheila at the moment.  Carolina seemed to agree with his sentiment.

“Hurry up!” She commanded, all but shoving everyone else through the door before slamming the side of her hand against the control panel on the inside portion of the doorway.

The door shut behind them, the sealing sound in the silence echoing around them oddly unsettling.

The area inside, for all intents and purposes, looked pretty much abandoned.  Just as the building had on the exterior.  None of the computer terminals lining the walls seemed to be operational, and the vast majority of the lights weren’t even on the emergency and conservational dim settings.

It was eerily reminiscent of several clichés straight out of the old horror movies he watched as a kid.

The group peered around them, unsure as to what to make of the sight.

“Um…” Simmons began cautiously, trying very hard and failing miserably to keep his voice from getting into its higher pitched squeak it did whenever he was extremely nervous, “Are we sure this place is still being used?”

There was that odd glow still, but maybe that was just a trick of his artificial eye and nothing more.  After all, it still always cast Church in the same aura Sheila and Delta were often bathed in.

“Well, it is such a lovely day outside.  Maybe everyone went camping!” Doc added in, trying to break the unease building around them with his own odd brand of bedside humor.

However, the more-or-less joking suggestion was ignored in response to Church’s much more volatile reaction to the surroundings.

“What the fuck, Washington?” He practically snarled at the steel and yellow-armored Freelancer, “I thought you guys were sure this was it!”

Apparently, Church was at least still coherent enough despite his rage that he realized addressing Carolina that way too would have been foolishly suicidal.

Before Washington could respond, and from the large intake of breath he took beforehand it seemed as if he was about to let out a colorful outburst of his own, Carolina stepped in with a stern warning evident in her tone, “We _are_ , Church.”

He rounded on her then and countered, “Then why are there no guards if this place is so goddamned important, huh?  Why is there no power?”

“That’s all just to maintain the appearance that this place isn’t worth anyone’s time.” When Washington spoke, the anger that had been in his body language before had deflated and his voice had an oddly hollow note to it, “Because it’s always best to hide things in plain sight.”

“Really?  Well, they’ve done a fucking stellar job on that because it all looks like it’s imaginary to me.” Church seemed to be getting angrier by the minute.

Simmons supposed he could understand where Church was coming from.  They’d risked a lot coming here due to everything that was at stake.  The Resistance, and most likely from Church’s point of concern namely Tex and possibly the Caboose kid, even more so.

If this was just a dead end, then what?

The idea of a bomb that could take out the entire underground population of the Slums in the blink of an eye being built somewhere was absolutely terrifying.  Anger was a pretty understandable response to that kind of helplessness.  Besides, Leonard Church was pretty much always fused towards anger.

“That’s not entirely true, Church.” Sheila spoke up quietly just then, her gunmetal green helmet tilting this way and that as if she was observing something around them.

He paused, caught off-guard by the robot’s statement, “What do you mean?”

“There seems to at least be quite a bit of power being diverted to some part of this building.” She glanced over at Simmons expectantly, “You feel it too, don’t you, Private Simmons?”

He nodded his head slightly, though “feeling it” wasn’t exactly the right word choice for him personally.  That disconcerting glow around the walls that he had more or less now associated with general power supplies ever since becoming a cyborg was quite apparent here, despite how abandoned and shut-down everything looked on the surface when he observed the building through his organic eye only.

In fact, it almost seemed to form a trail of some kind.  It was more than that too.

“There were a lot of spikes in power around the building grounds too.” He muttered quietly in confirmation of what Sheila had said, pausing as he tried to accurately figure out what that could have meant, “Possibly like there were…automated security defenses?”

“That’s correct, Private Simmons.” Delta informed them, nodding his small head a fraction, “I used the schematics of the building to help us successfully bypass all of them.”

Carolina shrugged slightly, “Further evidence for our theory, Delta?”

“Perhaps.” The A.I. Fragment was cryptic.

“Okay, like that hasn’t already gotten fucking old already.” Church muttered under his breath.

“Furthermore, this place is strange.” Sheila stated, ignoring the commentary from her friend.

“Well, it _isn’t_ a very hospitable place.  I’ll give you that.” Doc looked around thoughtfully, “Though it could be more warm and inviting with just the right accents.”

“Jesus, I hope that Donut kid survives this fucking mess.” Church groaned, his helmeted head falling into his hand, “You two are perfect for each other.”

For a moment Doc almost seemed caught off-guard at the sudden remark, and his back stiffened.  He hadn’t said anything about Donut in a long while since they’d come back to Above Ground after the “peace talks” fiasco, but it had been pretty obvious that his friend had been upset at how abruptly they’d had to leave and that the continued fighting had made him rather concerned.  He had been exceedingly worried when Church and Carolina had explained about what Hargrove had really wanted from the tunnels during the delegations.

Doc just usually tried focusing on more cheerful topics in order to help divert his own mind and others’ from those matters when he could.  That had always been Doc’s way of dealing with things, even back when they had first met each other during training. 

Church glanced at the silent medic and almost seemed apologetic for having brought up Donut at all, “Listen, Doc—“

“Aw, thanks, Church!” The smile plastering Doc’s face underneath his purple helmet was no doubt exceedingly large, “I knew you were worried too!”

Doc outstretched his arms as if to give the other man a hug, and Church backed away, quickly, “For the love of—Doc, if you hug me, I swear I will fucking shoot you!”

That _probably_ would have been a more viable threat if Church could actually shoot worth anything.  Washington chose to speak up just then, turning attention back to Sheila’s earlier remark instead just to be on the safe side.

“This complex is strange?  How so?” He asked the robot.

“There is something familiar about this place.” She paused before continuing, trying to describe it more concisely, “As if I’ve been here before—or knew someone here.”

Church looked at her as if he was frowning under his helmet, “We’ve never been here before though.”

“Yes.” She seemed quite troubled by her own confusing remarks as well, “Besides, no one even seems to be here.”

Washington, Carolina, and Delta all shared a look.  That was a common occurrence whenever they seemed to know something that the others didn’t yet.

“Regardless, we need to keep moving.” Carolina finally stated, “Speculating here is only wasting time we don’t have.”

She tilted her head slightly, hands tense around her guns, “Simmons.  Sheila.  Think you can point us in the right direction?”

Both Sheila and Simmons turned to the left where a halfway open door seemed to lead into a corridor that appeared to look like any other in the hallway.  But there was definitely no mistaking the power trail pulsing just underneath the surface of the walls, floor, and ceiling of that space.

Carolina turned to him questioningly, and Delta nodded his head slightly in quiet agreement with the two physical beings’ assessment.

Washington looked at Carolina questioningly, “Another test?”

She shrugged, “Just trying to make sure.” She regarded him thoughtfully, noting the odd physical tremor that had started up in the other Freelancer as they were standing in the hallway, “How are you feeling, Wash?”

He squared his shoulders and tried to not look as shaken in his body language as he had been moments before, “I’ll be better once all of this is over and done with.”

The woman said nothing, briefly patting his shoulder as if in a comforting gesture before turning professional once more.

The group moved forward, forcing the door open as they went.  It was one of the few times where Simmons’ strength enhancements actually proved useful.  He imagined he would have just embarrassed himself otherwise, given that even with him, Sheila, and Washington shoving it took quite a bit of effort for the door to give way further.

The way they went through led into a series of more or less identical doors to the first one that they had to jimmy open.  The power for them seemed diverted on purpose, upon closer inspection.  Perhaps as another ploy to get people to think of the way as a dead end despite the energy trails all around the space.

They went through several non-descript rooms that could have belonged to any type of research facility or technological center, with nothing too high-end or extremely expensive by appearances at all.  Then they went down several flights of stairs.  Which was good since, as expected, none of the elevators were working.

The stairs lead down into an underground corridor with one large double-door of thick metal on the other side.

There was no mistaking where the power had been routed to in the building.  The sealed door was practically _blinding_ to look at with Simmons’ cybernetic eye due to how much power was going through it.  Even his organic one was starting to tear up by reflex.

“Th—this is it.” Simmons heard himself say nervously, as if from far away.

“Yeah, no shit.” Church muttered in response, though the remark seemed to lack his usual bite.

The locking mechanism for this door seemed even more complex than the first one had been.  Numerous multi-colored lights flashed across its surface in a way that was downright intimidating.

It reminded Simmons quite a bit of the mechanisms that kept the bulkheads into the Slums and its corresponding tunnels sealed away from Above Ground.  It had taken him almost an entire day to figure out how to bypass those when he’d ventured down below for the first time.

True, he had been little more than a teenager then, but he doubted he’d be able to bypass a lock of similar proportions in a speedy amount of time without proper code sequencing.  Given the situation, time was something they didn’t really have a ton of.

“Delta?” Carolina glanced at the silent figure floating near her shoulder.

He flickered out of view for a second, appearing at the door moments later.

“I’ll handle the lock on my own this time.” He stated, disappearing into the side-panel.

There was a large whirring sound from deep within the walls of the space, and the lock’s lights turned differing solid shades to correspond with the door being unlocked.  The two slabs of metal slid slowly to the sides as Delta reemerged, the group of soldiers running up to meet him at the doorway.

“That was faster than I expected.” Carolina told him, sounding genuinely impressed at the feat.

Delta seemed surprised as well, which was odd to see on the rather calm and collected A.I. Fragment, “I had assistance.”

“Who?” Carolina glanced behind him questioningly.

The sterile and brightly lit hallway beyond the open doorway was a stark contrast to the almost dilapidated rest of the complex.  There were all sorts of equipment lining the walls, and Simmons really only had a vague idea about what half of them probably were.  A faint humming sound echoed throughout the space.

Even more surprising than that was the tiny humanoid armored hologram hovering above the floor, glowing a dim purple and flickering as if somewhat unstable.  It seemed similar to Delta, but even smaller.  Almost as if to bring to mind a childlike form.

Carolina actually let out a sharp intake of breath, and Washington stared in open shock as both Freelancers said simultaneously, “ _Theta_?”

The small figure seemed to be struggling to maintain its shape as they got closer to it.

“Oh great.” Church sighed, “Another one.”

Carolina swallowed nervously, “How are you able to be this far away from your containment unit?” She asked, “How are you even able to be _outside_ your containment unit?”

“In the aftermath of what happened with the defections and with the Meta, some of the scientists were understandably rattled.” Delta explained, as the smaller form seemed to shrink away from Carolina’s questions almost fearfully, “They weren’t as thorough in handling my or Theta’s containment units as they should have been.”

Washington was looking at the wavering holographic image in concern, “Still, it’s a strain to be so far away from the containment unit regardless, isn’t it?  Then to help hack into a computer lock at the same time—”

“I—I had to!” Theta yelled out suddenly, the outburst causing his form to become even more blurry, “He’s in trouble!”

His voice definitely was that of a child’s.  A very upset one at that.

“Who is, Theta?” Washington’s tone was gentle, but urgent.

For some reason though, by how he asked the question, Simmons had a sneaking suspicion the blonde had a pretty good guess as to who Theta was talking about already.

“Epsilon!” Theta glanced back behind him, to a room where the humming seemed to be the loudest, “I think he’s dying.”

“Well, that’s just fucking fantastic.” Church whistled, looking at Washington and Carolina’s stiffening postures, “Isn’t he the one we came here to find?”

Theta turned at the sound of Church’s voice, tilting his head slightly in confusion, “Aren’t you—?”

He was cut off, however, by the doors sliding shut behind them again with a resounding thud.  The sound caused everyone but the Freelancers and the Fragments to jump slightly in surprise.

At the same time, a _very_ familiar voice boomed out at them through the surrounding computer terminals.

“Greetings, Agent Carolina and Agent Washington.” The polite, feminine tone stated cordially, “I see you have brought unregistered visitors with you.  Would you like me to go ahead and set up temporary visitor access for them?  Or should I proceed with the security measures for trespassers?”

Sheila had gone even more unnaturally stiff than her robotic body tended to be, as if she was in shock and attempting to process what she was hearing.  Everyone else, save for Washington and Carolina, just appeared confused.  Church was turning his head frantically from side to side in utter bewilderment.

“Why the fuck does the V.I. for this place sound like Sheila?” He demanded, turning to the two Freelancers with a very obvious _you better fucking explain this right now_ glare even through his helmet.

At Church’s voice, the Virtual Intelligence program that had spoken up moments before paused.  Then, the polite chords continued on as if not missing a step, “My apologies, Director, and greetings.  I did not recognize you earlier.”

“Director?” He sounded even more confused at that, looking over at Carolina again questioningly.

Carolina spoke up quickly, seemingly just as uneasy with the remark as Church had been, “F.I.L.S.S., he’s not—“

Whatever she was about to say was lost with the sound of a gun going off.

Surprisingly, it was _Church_ who shoved his caught off-guard cousin to the ground.  Apparently, he’d been in the best position to see what had happened given how he had been turned to look directly at Carolina from that angle at the time.

A spray of red liquid erupted from the sudden hole in the Above Grounder’s neck as the bullet pierced through the armor there.  He had knocked Carolina to the ground, his body crumpling on top of hers in the aftermath.

“ _CHURCH!”_

Simmons wasn’t sure which one of them screamed the loudest, but he could just picture Church complaining about “the assholes” killing his ears all the same.

Agent South Dakota lowered her weapon from where she stood just off to the side of the closed entrance, her orchid helmet nowhere to be seen and a humorless smirk crossing over her features.

“I guess that’s what you get when you forget to look over your shoulder, huh?”

*****

The sky was incredibly blue.  It was way bluer than Dexter Grif had ever thought it could be, with odd puffs of white that his brain automatically compared to marshmallows.

What could he say?  The Slums dweller hadn’t eaten in about four hours!  _Everything_ by this point was reminding him of food.

It was probably all sorts of weird how the sky was the first thing his attention was drawn to when they stepped foot on the actual surface of the planet, in very hostile circumstances to boot.  Knowing that Tex was undoubtedly correct about how they only had a few seconds, since she always tended to be about these things even if they argued sometimes, Grif couldn’t help but glance upwards all the same.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he noticed pretty much everyone else who had been raised underground in the former mining colony do the same.  So he knew it wasn’t just a knee-jerk reaction only he had.  None of them had ever seen the sky in person, after all.

Of course, he had to look down really quickly just to make sure that his feet were still on the ground.  There was an illogical part of him that, upon seeing the vastness of the sky overhead, wondered how the fuck they were able to keep from floating away.

No doubt if he were with him Simmons would have said something about gravity right there, and Grif would have to then mock him for being a know-it-all nerd.

The sky made the cavern ceiling towering high above Level One look downright suffocating, a perspective he’d never even thought of before.  A part of him was exhilarated at the realization, but another part almost wanted to throw up.  It was a bizarre combination.

The natural brightness of the surface wasn’t something he was used to either.  There was artificial lighting in the Slums to mimic day and night cycles, but it really didn’t come close to natural sunlight when you experience it for the first time.  Besides, the tunnels they’d used to reach here hadn’t even had one tenth of the lighting the Slums usually had to begin with.

If they hadn’t been wearing their helmets, Grif imagined the sudden influx of light would have been at least temporarily blinding.  It was still enough to make his water in reflex a little.

At least, he’d try telling himself that was why he teared up a little later on.

The second the last sealed door had moved away, the _entire world_ had opened up to a decidedly alien-looking place of vibrant colors and bizarre _softness_ underfoot.  Again, not helping with the whole notion of not standing on fully solid ground.

It was enough to completely throw someone’s perspective off balance for at least a moment or two.

Grif had never realized before just how cut off the Slums had been in so many other ways beyond just in abstract terms and treatment before.  But, it was now hitting him smack in the face and it was beyond overwhelming.

Of course, all of that philosophical pondering only lasted for about five seconds before all shit broke loose and the Above Ground troops in the area moved in.

The Resistance groups scattered, just as they had been designated to do earlier during the initial planning stages.  It was an attempt to divide the Above Ground troops’ attention even more as they moved in to mow the Slums dwellers down.

Tex had sealed the tunnel behind them as planned, so that the Above Ground soldiers really couldn’t attempt to force the Resistance fighters back underground even if they had originally planned on doing so.  Apparently, the alternate strategy the Above Ground military came up with was just to make things very bloody and brutal.

Someone hit him in the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze.

It was Tucker, nodding his head for a moment in understanding before his sword was out in front of him in a flash of blue even more blindingly brilliant than the sky.  Kai had torn her gaze from up above their heads as well, giving her brother a small wave that seemed to say _“Better see you later, asshole!”_ before she followed after their childhood friend and the rest of their team for this mission.

He returned both of their gestures, before pulling himself away from his shocked stupor along with everyone else to the sound of Sarge shouting incomprehensible orders over the sudden explosions and gunfire going off all around them.

There was a forest nearby.  Holy shit!  He’d _never_ seen one of those before save for in old video reels and films, although it was probably a bad idea to think too much about it right now.

Near the forest was a shallow ravine of some sort, along with a meadow-y area that the Freelancers had identified as sometimes being used for military training.  That seemed to explain some of the sparse-looking buildings dotting the terrain and the odd pieces of equipment strewn about it.

Multi-colored blurs moved from the outlier edges of the Resistance fighters as they separated and scattered, directly into the oncoming Above Grounders.  As they moved, there was a whole lot of shouting and bodies dropping.

That must have been Tex, North, and York then.  Their part of the plan had been to try to cause as much mayhem as they could amongst the highest concentration of Above Ground soldiers as the Resistance teams reorganized for their parts of the battle.

Kimball and a contingent of other fighters were escorting Doctor Grey and a few other non-combative Resistance members through the forest.  They were heading away from the fighting and hopefully in the direction of the “safe area” that Tex had been sure would still be there in order to get them set-up for potential injuries, equipment maintenance, and stronger communication lines.

It had been a compromise on her part, but Sarge and some others didn’t want to risk the Resistance’s de facto leader in the first skirmishes.  Kimball wasn’t directly involved in the initial fighting, but she was there and able to ensure support for it regardless.

Blue Team was taking the middle ground between Kimball’s group and the Freelancers, acting as a buffer to keep the enemy attention away from the non-combative personnel should they be some of the “lucky ones” who didn’t manage to immediately get killed by Tex and the others.

Grif couldn’t really see what his sister and some of the others were up to, but he could see multiple versions of C.T.’s brown armor amidst the chaos.  Tucker was definitely getting into the thick of the action with how often the orange armored soldier saw the arc of his friend’s energy blade slicing through the air whenever he turned his head slightly in that direction.  Which wasn’t too often, really.  Had to focus on not getting shot at or killed himself, you know?

He heard a thunderous, incomprehensible roar nearby that, to Grif’s best guess, was Sarge’s randomly indistinct battle cry to pump up his blood.  Also, to no doubt try to scare the shit out of any enemy soldiers nearby as Grif was almost sure saw a few of them jump a bit.

Afterwards, Sarge pushed Red Team towards the ravine.  It was the space that separated the area they’d emerged from within the tunnel to the city proper.

By the time they had gotten close enough to it to hold a temporary position of sorts, Grif had lost count of just how many enemy soldiers there were, of how many bullets their team had shot and that had been shot _at them_.

It seemed like an endless wave of Above Ground soldiers in his mind given what they were facing, but it probably wasn’t even a fourth of the actual army on the surface.  Truthfully, he wasn’t all that fond of math, especially when he wasn’t getting shot at.  So, he sure as fuck was probably less likely to accurately guess numbers in the middle of an active combat zone.

All Grif knew was that it seemed like time was at an odd standstill, at least until Volleyball and Jensen had managed to acquire a vehicle.  He noticed it when he was struggling to get up from a dive roll he’d had to do in order to avoid a grenade someone launched in his general direction.

Okay, so maybe he _did_ need to cut off on eating so much or something.  He probably shouldn’t get _that_ winded in the middle of a fucking firefight.

Jensen had apparently gotten the abandoned thing running after its Above Ground driver had decided to give up on it, and Volleyball took the wheel.  As Volleyball swiveled the machine in front of Grif’s momentarily out-of-breath form, Jensen had taken out the Above Grounder with the grenade launcher.

“You okay, sir?” Volleyball called out over the sounds of fighting and explosions.

No longer having to worry about someone firing on him as he was recovering, Grif got up in record time, nodding his head towards the two female lieutenants in gratitude for the save, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Captain Grif!” Even with her helmet on, he could picture the face-splitting grin on Jensen’s freckled face.

He couldn’t help but grin back.

“Kai will probably eviscerate your corpse if you get killed out here!” Volleyball joked, though they both knew that was probably scarily accurate to what would happen.

Then the lieutenants were off again.  From what Grif could tell over the course of the battle, they were doing a pretty damn amazing job of swerving throughout the soldiers and generally just causing a lot of confusion, at least until a rocket launcher came into play.

Both Resistance fighters had apparently seen it coming and jumped ship well before the subsequent explosion.  The vehicle’s velocity crashing it into a group of about six Above Grounders who had to scatter to avoid getting run over _and_ blown up by the already moving rocket.

Donut was able to use the open terrain to his advantage.  Despite the small cries of fear that he’d occasionally let loose whenever an enemy came too close or a bullet flew his way, he was “tossing away” (definitely _his choice of words, no one else’s_ ) with surprising precision and also keeping the squads from getting too clustered together.

“Hiya, Grif!  Hi, Lopez!” He yelled at them when the orange-armored soldier came into view, still sounding amazingly cheerful despite his nervousness.

Grif and Lopez were apparently of the same mind with helping to provide the “lightish red” fighter some cover while he threw his grenades in their amazingly accurate and rather deadly arcs.  The younger Resistance fighter was doing a great job, but it was definitely leaving him open in terms of how quickly he could respond to enemy fire.

Grif’s initial reaction was to groan in exasperation despite the danger they were in, “Could you not be so perky when we’re about to get killed?”

“Aw, but being perky helps me stay focused!” Donut’s head bobbed slightly, and he threw another grenade, “I _am_ screaming on the inside though!  If it helps.”

“That really doesn’t, actually.”

“Prefiero maldiciendo interiormente a mí mismo. Pero sí que, incluso cuando no estamos recibiendo disparos.” _{“I prefer cursing inwardly myself.  But, I do that even when we aren't getting shot at.”}_

Donut nodded his head in the robot’s direction, “Exactly, Lopez!  Even if we’re scared, look at us all still fighting together as a team!”

The robot made a noise that sounded vaguely like an electronic snort.

“Si uno de ustedes muere, yo no llevo ninguno de sus cuerpos de vuelta. En especial, no la propia grasa.” _{“If one of you dies, I am not carrying either of your bodies back.  Especially not the fat one's.”}_

Lopez paused, glancing at the two of his longest human teammates.  Donut was almost out of grenades, and would have to fall back to a gun soon enough.  Grif wasn’t even honestly sure how much ammunition either he or Lopez had left.

“Pero supongo quelo perdería chicos ligeramente.” _{“But I guess I would miss you guys slightly.”}_

“You’re right, Lopez, teamwork is best!”

“...Sólo un poco.” _{“_ _...Only slightly.”}_

They were forced to scatter moments later, as Donut threw the last of his grenades.  Lopez and Donut ended up managing to get to where both Jensen and Volleyball were firing off shots from behind the cover of a large rock.  The pink-armored soldier quickly armed himself with his own gun as they did so.

Figures that Grif managed to run towards the directions of the much more open area, which meant scrambling to avoid getting shot.  He sighed inwardly at the slightly envious thought of being able to stay stationary at least for a moment or two behind cover like the others.  It wouldn’t be anything long-term, but he could use the breather from being winded for a moment.

Matthews and Bitters had been holding their own pretty decently earlier too, from what he’d seen of them.  Similar to Jensen and Volleyball, they seemed to be using the terrain to their advantage quite a bit.  Grif wondered if maybe there was something to Sarge’s training regimens after all.  But, he’d lost sight of them after the three older Red Team members had been forced to scatter.

Now no matter how hard he looked he wasn’t seeing any signs of tan with yellow or orange trim armor around the battlefield.  Maybe they’d had to take cover somewhere or something.  Thinking about worst case possibilities wasn’t going to help anyone at the moment.

As far as Sarge was concerned, well…the crazy old guy seemed to be doing rather okay and holding his ground.  At least, if the shouts of “Eat lead, dirtbag!” and “Yee-haw!” were to be believed.  For once, Grif was rather glad for the Red Team leader’s dogged tenacity and homicidal tendencies.  When they weren’t directed _at him_ , they could be a wondrous thing.

It was probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes, truthfully, since they’d emerged from the tunnels.  But, the battle seemed to be taking forever.

There were a lot of dead and wounded on both sides.  Grif tried not to look down too much to see which acquaintance of his he was stepping over as he ran along.  He was inwardly praying that most of the causalities were of the assholes who were shooting at them instead, but knew the odds for that weren’t as favorable.

Suddenly a sharp, piercing noise filtered through his helmet.  It was the decided upon signal for retreating.  Why the fuck they couldn’t have just had someone yelling out the order over a comm-link was beyond him, but it certainly got your attention in a _“makes your ears want to bleed”_ kind of way.

The sound was almost too disbelievingly good to be true.

The next part of the plan he could definitely agree to: take cover in the forest and get to the safe location as quickly as humanly possible.

Too late he noticed to the side a person in white armor aiming a gun at him, but suddenly there was the tell-tale crack of a shotgun being fired.  The Above Ground soldier crumpled before he could even react.

Sarge harrumphed, lowering his weapon, “Disappointingly slow reflexes as always, Grif.  I should’ve just let him shoot you to make a point.”

“…Uh, wouldn’t me being dead refute any point I could’ve possibly learned?” The Resistance fighter couldn’t help but ask despite the shock, raising a black eyebrow underneath his helmet.

Gah, it was really hard equating Sarge with any type of gratitude, but there it was.  Grif did owe him big time for the save.

“No time for fancy semantics!  You heard that signal!” Sarge was waving his arm, “Get your ass in gear, dirtbag!”

Which was pretty much the closest thing Grif would probably _ever_ get to a warm and fuzzy moment with his commanding officer, as sad as that was.

Still, he couldn’t help the shaky sigh and odd sort of smile he found creeping onto his face all the same as the older soldier gave a slight nod, waiting as long as he probably dared from a sound tactical stance before rejoining the last of the stragglers and his subordinates in the forest.

Grif was glad to see that none of the Red Team members seemed to be the worse for wear beyond a few dents and scrapes in their armors. He also noticed a few stragglers from other teams in the Resistance headed into the forest, disappearing amidst the cover of the trees.  The foliage cover would help keep their visibility down, yes, but they would still need to be quick due to the other types of sensors at play.

Grif was about to do the same as the others when he realized something, his feet suddenly stopping in their tracks.

He hadn’t counted either Lieutenant Matthews or Lieutenant Bitters amongst the Red Team members who had fallen back.

It was stupid to wait any longer.  He knew that.  Anyone who hadn’t made it to the tree-line yet was probably not going to.  Standing out here right now was pretty much like walking around with a target on your back.  Okay, so maybe _orange_ armor wasn’t exactly the most blending-in color either in that regard.

Best to just do a sad sigh and mourn later.

Sure, Matthews could be an annoying kissass sometimes and no one really likes a kissass.  And Bitters’ apathy and attitude could be draining, even for him.  But they were just _kids_ , around Kai’s age.

They got him snacks all the time and, beyond a few pointed remarks from Bitters on the subject, they were cool enough to let Grif nap even when technically he probably should have been doing something productive.

He wondered if Sarge would have left if he’d thought they could have been still alive, or if Kimball would still retreat.  If _Kai_ was hurt or lost somewhere, Grif would be fucking pissed as all get out if Tucker or C.T. left her behind.  Yes, even in the face of a logical argument.

Fuck.  If he stayed more or less hidden in the trees, maybe he could stick around long enough to just _make sure_.  One way or the other.

“C—Captain Grif!”

It was Matthews’ voice that shouted, sounding both relieved and strained all at once.

Both he and Bitters were trying to run with a halting limp up from the edge of the ravine, but their progress was painfully slow given the fact that Bitters appeared to be wounded.  Gunshot wounds to the apathetic lieutenant’s right side and upper leg were seeping out blood.

It seemed as if the two recruits had actually fallen down into the ravine at some point since their armor was really scratched up and torn.  On closer inspection, Grif realized their armor also had burn marks, as if they’d been close by an explosion. 

Matthews was half-supporting, half-dragging his wounded teammate across the space only a couple meters from the older Resistance fighter and the cover of the forest.  Just then the tell-tale shining white forms of Above Ground soldiers were catching sight of them as well.

Grif swore, racing down the short distance to the two fighters.  He began practically pushing the two younger men up the slight incline to where the wooded area was waiting, firing off a few of his remaining rounds as he did so to try to keep the Above Grounders at bay.

The soldiers were still approaching, a rather huge group that was spreading out as if to block off any other potential escape route.  They fired a few times, but either they were horrible shots since they always seemed a few centimeters off or…

_They want to get closer.  Either they want to kill us at point-blank range because they’re fucking pissed, or they want us alive._

Alive probably meant torture, then death.

After what felt like forever, the three Resistance fighters made it stumbling to the woods.

Grif shoved harder, causing the not-quite-with-it-due-to-blood-loss Bitters to nearly trip.  Thankfully Matthews somehow managed to keep a firmer grip than Grif would have given him credit for on his injured teammate and kept them both steady.

The Slums dweller felt slightly bad about possibly making Bitters’ injuries worse, but he’d apologize later if they ended up actually surviving.

“Keep moving and don’t look back.” Grif told them, his voice sounding oddly composed despite the fact that he could barely hear it over his heart pounding loudly in his ears, “We’ll meet at the safe zone.”

Matthews flinched slightly, and both he and Bitters glanced at each other before he spoke up, “But—“

Of all the times for the stupid kid to _not_ be a suck-up, he had to pick _NOW_?

_“Get the fuck moving!”_

Reluctantly, Matthews gave a small nod.  Then he was moving through the trees with Bitters in tow with a lot more speed than Grif would have thought possible, especially given how much the other lieutenant was probably leaning on him.

Grif thought he saw Bitters glancing back briefly, but the older fighter was off and running to the side not a second later.  The orange-armored soldier was uninjured and, while grossly out of shape for this kind of activity, at least he wasn’t hurt or dragging someone else who was injured.

He figured he could divert attention from the two younger fighters for a moment to better their chances of actually getting out okay.  Then he’d dart further into the forest and hopefully get to safety himself not too long after.

Shots were fired as he peeked out at the soldiers who were now just a few steps away from giving chase into the woods after him.  Grif fired back.  Those were his last two rounds.  The third one gave a pathetic click when he pulled the trigger.

The Slums resident turned around, hoping the soldiers focused on him but would also waste time to debate about potential Resistance ambushes before deciding to give chase.

Suddenly, a figure in way too fucking familiar steel and orange armor materialized directly behind him.  He was aware of the butt of a gun slamming right through his visor, then all he saw was black.

*****

When Grif came to, he was looking up at the sky again.  This time it was obscured slightly by leaves and thick branches.  Liquid was dripping down his face, and one of his eyes appeared to be swollen shut.

He had been right though.  Now that his visor was shattered, the sunlight kind of hurt.

The orange-wearing soldier laid there on the forest floor trying to gain some measure of breath, while also trying to get his head to stop spinning and threatening to spill open.  Honestly, there wasn’t a whole lot that _didn’t_ fucking hurt at this moment.

“Wow.” A smug voice sounded from just a little further away, “Did not picture you doing the whole _heroic_ thing before.  Who would’ve guessed?”

Felix stepped into view moments later.  Apparently he’d been off to the side wiping the blood from Grif’s face off of his gun.  He could just picture the mocking grin on the asshole mercenary’s face.

If he wasn’t fairly certain he’d be dead if he so much as tried it, Grif would have used the little bit of energy he had left to give Felix the finger.

“The two guys you were covering?  Matthews and Bitters, right?  I thought I recognized the trims.” The mercenary was talking as if it was just a normal conversation, like how he’d sometimes talk with everyone when he had been initially “hired” by Kimball.

Granted, Felix didn’t seem particularly interested in hearing Grif’s reply.  The Slums resident was really starting to think the mercenary just got off on hearing himself talk.

“They actually managed to get away because of you.” Felix scoffed, shaking his head, “Not that it will matter in the fucking slightest.  Such a shame.”

There were more footsteps approaching now, and hushed orders flowing around.  It looked like the regular Above Ground military had finally begun combing the area in the off-chance that there were still Resistance stragglers.

Hopefully, Felix _was_ right and the lieutenants had gotten far enough away at least.

Felix bent over him on the ground, positioning his helmet so that he was no doubt sure that he was making eye contact with the Resistance fighter.

“Looks like you’re the only one of you morons on _this_ battlefield who is still breathing, Grif.” His tone took on a darker jovial note as he added, “Though I can fucking _guarantee_ you’ll be wishing you weren’t soon enough.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** I am sorry that it took so long for this chapter to come out. Holidays were throwing all sorts of curveballs into my schedule at the last minute.
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> 
> Also, really sorry for the double-cliffhanger ending! O_O …Things kind of got pretty intense there, huh? On the plus side, this chapter is technically only half of a much larger one I’d initially planned. Kind of ended up picking cliffhanger parts simply because they felt like good stopping points when the page numbers kept getting higher, haha. I already have the first part of the next chapter written out, so hopefully it shouldn’t take as long to post now that weird schedule changes are over with.
> 
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> 
> Things are definitely getting more hectic, and lots of things are going to be happening really soon. So, I hope you’ll stick with me!
> 
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> Thank you so much for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed the chapter a little bit even with the really horrible ending. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty:

The sheer amount of confusion and disbelief that seemed to fall over the entire space as Church’s lifeless body fell directly on top of his cousin was downright suffocating.  It was as if everything had simply become frozen in that one single, terrifying moment.

Simmons’ brain was simply trying to figure out the “whys” of it all, the still organic components of his throat now raw and aching from the scream he’d reflexively let loose.  Why was Agent South Dakota there?  Why did Church _do that_?  Why was the cyborg just standing there, mentally asking himself questions he didn’t have any answers to?

 _Why the fuck had they even come here again_?

Sheila, standing nearby, seemed to be practically catatonic.  The robot had gone eerily still and silent when the Virtual Intelligence of the facility, F.I.L.S.S., had spoken using _her_ voice earlier.  But now it appeared as if she wasn’t even functioning at all, as if what had happened to Church had broken her.

Sadly, maybe it had.  Church and Sheila had been as close to friends as Simmons had ever really thought their team leader could be with someone else, even before the two of them had joined their group.

Doc seemed just as shocked as Simmons, as the redhead was fairly certain his friend had shouted their teammate’s name too when the blood had splattered into the air.  But Doc was apparently quick to remember his role as a medic.

The bespectacled man moved forward, tentatively at first given the fact that South was still there.  But in about two steps the medic had started running until he was close to Church with his odd-looking medical scanner out in front of him, bathing the cobalt armored form in green light.

Given his friend’s body language as he did so though, it seemed as if Doc already knew what the scanner was going to be picking up.

At that moment, Simmons tried really hard not to remember Doc’s joking remarks about what a medic’s role compared to a doctor’s was.  To make someone comfortable, wasn’t it?  Too early, too… _fuck_!  It had all been too sudden.

The two Freelancers that had accompanied them were the ones to react quickly to their teammate being in their midst.  Washington had his weapon aimed at South’s exposed head, and for a second Simmons almost found it odd that she wasn’t wearing a helmet given the situation.

There was probably only a second before the blonde Freelancer pulled the trigger, “Have you lost your fucking mind, South?”

The question was anger and pain all rolled into one.  Even with his armor on there was a slight momentary tremor in Washington’s body language.  How much effort did it take to point a gun at someone you probably considered a friend?

Simmons briefly recalled that he’d done the same to Grif awhile back.  The thought made his stomach feel even sicker.  His eyes darted back-and-forth from Church’s body and his still alive teammates to the sudden standoff taking place.

“Have you, Wash? Or did you ever really get it back after that whole A.I. fuck-up?” South was sneering, seemingly completely unconcerned about the gun pointed towards her face, “Breaking into here means you’re all traitors.”

“I have no records of any such change in status for Agent Carolina or Agent Washington.” F.I.L.S.S. spoke up then through the terminals, sounding oddly terse: “A shot has been fired inside the facility.  I detect no loss of life, but should I run security measures?”

“N—no loss of life?” Simmons sputtered incredulously, “But Church is—“

He didn’t get to finish his confused statement as a guttural scream of what he could only describe as pure _rage_ erupted from Carolina.  Up until this point, the cyan-armored Freelancer seemed to have been in just as bad a state of shock as Sheila underneath Church’s corpse after he had shielded her.

In one quick motion, she’d pushed her cousin’s body off of her.  She didn’t seem to take notice of the red liquid splotching her armor, or of Doc’s fearful screech as he scrambled back out of her way.  Then the redhead moved in a blur until she suddenly had South’s throat in a vice-like grip with one hand, twisting the gun out of the other Freelancer’s hands with the other.

“Carolina!” Washington shouted in warning.  There was a small note of fear in his voice as well, her sudden action had apparently even been a bit unsettling to him.

Not that Simmons could blame anyone for that reaction, considering the sudden weakness in his limbs just then.  Agent Carolina looked scary enough now just with her _beyond_ livid body language even while fully-armored, let alone combining that with the almost nightmarish quality effect the blood splattered against the cyan conveyed.

He didn’t even want to imagine what her face must look like underneath her helmet.

“Always wanted to figure out what would piss you off.” South wheezed, still strangely smirking despite the sudden change in her position, “Beyond Tex that is.”

Carolina’s gloved fingers were squeezing tighter and South was starting to take on a shade of purple that was eerily starting to match her armor, “You… _killed Church_.”

Somehow, despite the pressure on her throat, South managed to spit out, “As…as if I could kill that _thing_.”

The remark was bizarre enough that Carolina paused momentarily in her strangle attempt.

South managed to grin again as she wheezed, “Y—you really…didn’t know?  You honestly thought I put a bullet in your _cousin_?”

The blonde Freelancer glanced at Delta’s hovering form nearby, “I’m surprised your little green _friend_ didn’t fill you in.” She remarked, a devious glint in her pale blue eyes as if this was a very pleasant sudden turn of events in her mind, “Then again we all _just love_ sharing, don’t we?”

“South…!” Carolina tightened her grip again.  South’s voice promptly cut off while her eyes seemed to bulge out of her face slightly.  Simmons wanted to turn away but couldn’t, even as he knew he was about to watch the red-headed Freelancer kill someone with her bare hands.

“ _Goddamn it!_   What the fuck was that for, assholes?”

Hearing the voice of their recently very much deceased unofficial team leader suddenly cutting into the thick of things was, admittedly, the _last_ thing the cyborg would have thought possible.

Doc reacted first, jumping even farther away from the body than he had done before when Carolina had darted past him to grab Agent South Dakota, “Church!”

Hovering just above his own corpse was a small, miniature “ghost” of Leonard Church completely decked out in full armor.  Only…it was white instead of cobalt, and blindingly so!  It actually _hurt_ Simmons’ artificial eye in particular to look at this new form for too long, and his normal eye had started watering up in response.

At least he told himself the tearing up was because of that and not because of any kind of “crying out of happiness” thing.  Because, honestly, right at this very moment?  His brain was more-or-less just trying to process how the fuck what he was seeing was even plausible.

“Um…” Church paused in the middle of his tangent, looking at the shocked stares directed his way and his relative’s choking grip on another Freelancer before his gaze traveled down to his own body and the blood pooling around it in obvious confusion, “I think I’m really going to need a fucking explanation.”

*****

In his life, there were a lot of things that Washington would have liked to have seen gone differently.

Fuck, if he were to make a list covering his lifetime with old-fashioned pen and paper it would probably have had his hand cramping in about ten seconds.  Such a list would no doubt take up a shit load of memory on a datapad.  He’d had more than his fair share of poor decisions, missed opportunities, and just getting his ass handed to him over the years.

Narrowing such a list down to just _this_ mission alone?  Even then, he was looking at a fair share of screw-ups that he had inadvertently played a part of.

Washington had flashed through all of them numerous times already, and had just added a few more to the mental list as Carolina began choking the life out of their traitorous teammate.  Ironically enough, he knew that _they_ were undoubtedly the traitors in South’s eyes given everything.

That was all seconds before a suddenly very confused miniature form of Leonard Church had appeared over his own dead body.

The Freelancer had to hand it to the Director in a rather morbid sort of way: the blood had been a rather nice touch.

The truth was, involving Florida’s squad in this mission had always been risky.  At best, they were occasionally helpful but more of a liability given their lack of intensive training.  At worst, they were just potential targets.

Washington understood Carolina’s reasoning as to _why_ she had wanted to bring them along.  They could certainly have been of use for assistance.  There had been the possibility of potentially finding out about the Council’s interest in Sheila and Simmons too.

But, he knew that she had been unsure of it herself.  That she had most likely debated the measure in her head before finally deciding to go along with it as part of their strategy.

Had Washington voiced his concerns more, the Freelancer leader would have perhaps eventually listened.

Not making himself more aware of South’s activities during this whole fiasco had also clearly been a major mistake.  He had, admittedly, been focused more on the sudden inclusion of the mercenaries into the ranks at the Mother of Invention.  So much more that he hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have to what South Dakota had been doing.

It didn’t help that she still seemed to hold a grudge against him for what she felt was his role in the cancellation of the A.I. implantations.

Given that his “role” in that had been a complete and utter mental collapse and nearly dying alongside the suicidal Fragment in his head, he wasn’t really in the mood to try to discuss that particular issue with her or anyone else.  South would usually just glare at him, share a few terse words, and then storm off.

The whole situation with Hargrove, the relic, Junior, both Sheila and Simmons, and even _Epsilon_ of all things getting thrown back into the mix?  Well, thinking on the possible actions of a sulky teammate had barely crossed his mind.  He had tried covering his tracks in regards to Wyoming and the mercenaries, but never thought to do so with South.

A mistake that was definitely biting him in the ass now.

After what had happened with North, one would think that lesson would have been burned into all of their brains.

The next major mistake of this mission would be that he hadn’t said more to Church about what he actually was.  Learning about it in such a way?

Well, Washington could only imagine how much of a shock that was to a person who had _never_ had any idea of it beforehand.  No matter how inexplicably it might seem to the Freelancer that that was the case.

“Come on, guys.” Church was saying impatiently to the room as Washington thought about the current state of events, “ _Any day_ now would be fucking great.”

“…Church?”

It was Carolina who had asked that.  Her voice sounded bizarrely like it was faltering and even unsure.  It was strange to hear her tone like that for how steel-edged it usually was.

_The little girl with red hair looked on, uncertain, as someone (him?) barely cast a glance over at her from their work._

…He hadn’t relived that particular memory in awhile.  Washington frowned, wondering if this whole situation and being so close to Epsilon again was just going to trigger more of them.

It would be problematic if it happened more frequently, since things were getting progressively more intense and dangerous as they continued their mission.

Carolina’s hand was still crushing South’s windpipe, but her shock at seeing Church and somewhat turned head meant that her grip had at least lessened enough that the other woman could get some air in.

“S—see?” The blonde coughed a little, “He’s fine.  I—it takes more than a bullet to kill those toys.”

South was looking pointedly at the fluctuating form of Theta as she spoke, eyes narrowed.  The A.I. Fragment flinched and it was easy enough to understand why.  The Freelancer was making a veiled reference to the wound she had inflicted on her brother right before she had ripped his implant out.

“How…?” Carolina, meanwhile, seemed completely out of sorts as she tried processing all of this new information.

South scoffed at their “steadfast” former leader’s reaction, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know, Miss High and Mighty!”

Carolina turned towards her then, and it was easy enough to imagine her eyes hardening behind her visor.  The newfound wince on South’s face was a pretty clear indicator that the redhead had started applying more pressure to her grip.

“What the hell’s going on?” Carolina demanded, focusing her attention on both Washington and Delta.

Given that Church and the others on his squad seemed just as out of sorts about everything, and that Theta had been stuck here, the two of them were the most likely out of the group beyond the having-way-too-much-fun-mocking-her South to know more.

Delta flickered slightly just above Carolina’s shoulder, this being one of the rare instances where it seemed as if the more logic-based A.I. Fragment was rather unsure of how to approach a dilemma.  It was fairly obvious in Delta’s mannerisms that he had been withholding information he had known for quite some time, and that it was now staring him directly in the face.

Washington frowned, starting to piece together yet _another_ part of the puzzle he hadn’t necessarily thought of before.  At this point he was both cursing his oversight and desperately wishing he hadn’t for Carolina’s sake in particular.

“You—you mean you didn’t know?  And your new toy decided not to share?” South managed to somehow let out a bitter, choking laugh as she glanced from Washington back to Carolina, “Or Wash here?  Guess I _do_ feel bit bad for you, then.”

Carolina turned back to stare at her, and Washington wondered just how unforgiving her gaze was then.  One thing Carolina couldn’t stand was pity, and mocking pity from the person who had tried gunning her down and even managed to take out a relative instead was even worse.

South didn’t seem to care though, “I can’t believe you actually thought that _thing_ was your cousin!”

Perhaps that explained South’s lack of a helmet: either she had been driven to such an emotional extreme that she no longer cared to go on living, or this was some kind of ploy on her part in an attempt at a poorly conceived mind game.

Regardless, it wasn’t going to go well.

“South, shut up.” Washingon’s voice was low in warning, “Or F.I.L.S.S. _will_ be registering a death.”

On top of wishing he had not only prepared Church but Carolina too beforehand, a part of him was seriously regretting having not taken out South well before the conversation had gotten to this point.

South raised an eyebrow, “Please, Wash.  As if you’d have the guts to go through with that threat.”

True, he would have more than simply hesitated in the past.  Yes, back when he didn’t see potential betrayals in all of his comrades just waiting to happen.

But, given what South had done here and that she was definitely hindering their mission at this point, the only reason he hadn’t currently was because Carolina was blocking him getting a good shot.

They were _running out of fucking time_!

Washington quickly made a mental list of what had transpired while on the mission.  There was Theta’s urgent declaration of Epsilon’s apparent deteriorating condition.  Then the apparent shock that had overcome Sheila after hearing F.I.L.S.S. speak, which was another scenario both he and Carolina should have foreseen given this facility’s ties to the Director and Project Freelancer.  Next there was Church getting shot dead only to suddenly come back in miniature form in front of his more than stunned teammates.  Finally, they had Carolina being wracked with disbelief, confusion, and no doubt a lot of anger as the pieces all started falling into place.

There was literally no way this situation could get any worse.  At all.

“Knock-knock.” A gun suddenly cocked behind Washington’s helmeted head as the all-too familiar British accent spoke up jovially.

_Oh, fuck me!_

Washington couldn’t help but swear mentally.

No wonder South hadn’t seemed particularly upset at getting “caught.”  By keeping them talking and focused on her, it was the perfect distraction someone else could use to their advantage.

“So, both of you are working for Hargrove now?” The blonde let out a sigh.  If that was the case, he wasn’t really all that surprised.

“Not very polite or sporting of you to not go along with the joke, Washington.” The white-armored Freelancer sighed himself and clucked his tongue disappointingly at the younger man’s apparent lack of manners.  Washington had to bite down a scathing retort of his own on Wyoming’s idea of polite behavior as the brunette continued: “But, no, South isn’t employed by the Chairman.”

She scoffed, “I could give a rat’s ass about Council power plays and Slums shit.”

“While I really only care about who pays the most.” Her cohort stated as he shrugged indifferently, “Who, currently, is definitely the Chairman about to take full control of the government.  Really, working for him is just covering my bases.”

“B—but why?” It was Simmons, surprisingly, who spoke up then despite having fallen into a state of panic earlier at Church’s sudden reappearance in the world of the living, “If you know what he’s going to do, then—“

“It’s nothing personal, mind you, lad.” Wyoming cut the maroon-armored soldier off before he could finish, “But being moved by a conscience doesn’t help secure much of a livelihood.”

“Like I said, I don’t give a fuck who lives or who dies in this stupid war so long as _I’m_ not one of the dead ones.” South’s eyes darkened as she added under her breath, “I just want to see someone again before it all goes to hell.”

That “someone” by the inflection in her voice and the not-very-subtle glare in Theta’s direction no doubt was North Dakota.

Washington frowned, “To do _what_ exactly, South?” He somehow doubted very much that it would be to apologize, “To finish what you started?”

She turned to smirk in his direction, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She mocked, raising an eyebrow at him quizzically, “Or do you want me to show you?”

Washington was definitely starting to regret not having shot her earlier when he’d had the chance.  A part of him hated that he felt that way about former teammates as he certainly wasn’t feeling much friendlier to Wyoming currently either, but on the other hand?  It was obvious neither of them were feeling any sort of camaraderie towards their former teammates anymore.

“So, if you’re _not_ working for Hargrove—“ Carolina still sounded a bit out of sorts given the shocks of the last few minutes, but apparently Wyoming’s arrival had helped her to start focusing again on the task at hand.

“Oh, _I_ am still, but this is more of a personal side-job than anything else.” Wyoming was talking as conversationally as ever, as if he was describing a recent book he’d read instead of his questionable employment choices while holding a gun to someone’s head.

“I’ve always been a tad curious to see if the Director had hidden some of his more secretive projects somewhere that Hargrove wouldn’t even know about, and the two of you have been sneaking around quite a bit recently yourselves.” The Freelancer continued and nodded at the recollection, “We figured that you would lead us to something useful, eventually.  We were right, weren’t we, Gamma?”

His partner flickered into visible existence nearby, his focus entirely on the miniature form of Church, “Affirmative.”

“There you have it.” Wyoming tilted his head slightly in South’s direction, “I wasn’t quite sure depending on how things played out if I would _want_ Hargrove or his mercenaries knowing what I was up to.”

That made sense in a twisted sort of way.  Wyoming was certainly not an idiot.  He knew that putting all of his eggs in one basket with someone like Hargrove wasn’t the smartest move given how disposable the man tended to view even those working for him.  Having some potential alternatives in wait was sound, all things considered.

Wyoming carried on, “Our dear Agent South wanted to figure out what you were up to as well, so at the last second we partnered up like old times.  She was hurrying so much not to lose track of you that she even forgot her helmet of all things.”

That explained _that_ then.  South must have somehow caught wind of them making their move while she’d been in the middle of either arming up or arming down at base.  He recalled that she would sometimes act impulsively like that, to the point where it affected her performance on the field on occasion.

Wyoming paused then, the frown evident in his voice as he talked, “Though I specifically wanted to _wait_ to make our move until you were further into the facility.”

“I saw an opportunity and I took it.” South seemed completely nonplussed by the disapproval Wyoming was throwing her way, “I wanted to see just how quick our leader’s reflexes were.” She grimaced, glaring over at Church hovering over his blood-stained corpse, “I had no idea the stupid A.I. of all fucking things would get in the way.”

 “The…the _what_?” Simmons spoke up again, causing Washington to wince slightly in sympathy.  The poor guy’s voice seemed to be rather stuck at the moment on a permanent high-pitched frequency.

South continued on as if he hadn’t said anything, “You can’t say you didn’t have it coming, Carolina.” She stated rather conversationally, “Always so smug and on top of the rankings.  _Always_ keeping secrets.”

Then she grinned, lowering her voice as if she was sharing a secret, “I couldn’t fucking stand that Tex bitch either, but I guess seeing someone finally getting under your skin _was_ petty enjoyable.”

Carolina’s entire body went rigid.  Washington was beginning to wonder just how long the threat Wyoming posed would continue to prevent her from tearing the orchid-armored Freelancer limb from limb.

South’s smirk only widened, and it was apparent she was baiting her on purpose.  Wyoming would put a bullet through Washington’s helmet if Carolina so much as squeezed just a fraction harder.

“Seriously, guys, what the fuck is going on here?” Church asked again, clearly getting very agitated at the lack of attention his new predicament seemed to be getting.

“I’d have thought it would be quite obvious.” Wyoming shrugged, “Though I suppose Florida didn’t really explain too much to you.” He sighed, “Good chap, that one.  A bit too soft-hearted for his own good though.”

“Florida?” Doc shared a questioning glance with the others on his squad at the name, “Are you talking about Captain Flowers?”

“That’s right.  I forgot.  I suppose you knew him better under that name after all.” Wyoming nodded his head at the realization, “My apologies.”

“What…what does he have to do with this?”

The mention of their former leader apparently was causing Church to regain his wits a bit sooner than even Washington would have expected after everything.  Sometimes thinking on the past could help keep one grounded in a way, he supposed.

“Quite a bit, actually.” Wyoming stated in reply, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the man he was still holding at gun-point, “Wouldn’t you say, Washington?”

Wyoming was trying to keep confusion high on purpose, keep the trust amongst the group fractured so that they wouldn’t try to form any counter-measures.  It was a pretty useful manipulation tactic for stand-offs.

Good strategy considering that they were in quite a large stand-off at the moment.

Washington wasn’t sure if talking with the two Freelancers was going to help things, or just end up making any later possible attempts at explanation that much _worse_.

He cast a quick glance over at Carolina, who inclined her head slightly at the action.  It seemed as if perhaps she was thinking along similar lines.

“F.I.L.S.S.?” She called out suddenly, voice booming.

The Virtual Intelligence’s response was prompt, “Yes, Agent Carolina?”

“Agent South Dakota and Agent Wyoming have been compromised.” She stared at both of them impassively from within the confines of her helmet, “Activate security measures.”

Wyoming shook his head, “Admirable effort, Carolina, but we all know that won’t work.”

There was a momentary pause, and F.I.L.S.S. spoke up almost regretfully, “Agent Wyoming is correct.  I am sorry, Agent Carolina, but at this facility only the Director has the authority to designate Freelancer agents as threats—“

Carolina cut her explanation off short, apparently already figuring out a way to bypass that issue as she turned to the floating form of her cousin, “Church?”

If Church still had his face underneath his helmet in that virtual form, there was no doubt that he was probably frowning at the moment.

He flickered somewhat as he seemed to pick up on what Carolina was getting at a second later, “F.I.L.S.S., just…do it, okay?”

Another slight pause and then F.I.L.S.S. chimed in, “Of course, Director.”

“Oh, didn’t think of that—“ Wyoming was cut off before he could finish as his armor fully locked down in a sudden wave of energy flowing through it, freezing him in place.

“Reggie!” Gamma gave a small cry of distress at the sudden state of his human partner.

South grinned, “No helmet, remember?” she taunted, “You can’t fucking pull that trick on—“ she wasn’t able to finish as Carolina’s fist impacted forcefully on the side of her skull, promptly causing the Freelancer to crumple onto the ground.

There was silence for about two seconds following that, before Simmons spoke up, “Um, what was—“

“It was a security measure built into our armor, in case we became a security risk.” Carolina explained, “Easy enough to override once you find out about it.”

The indication seemed to be that she’d already removed it from her own armor, and no doubt any of the Freelancers who had defected had done so as well.  It had, admittedly, been one of the first things Washington had gotten rid of after what had happened with Epsilon.  Just in case.

He paused, staring at Wyoming in surprise, “I would have thought he would have removed it too the second he knew it was there.”

After all, Wyoming tended to be prepared for almost anything.  He’d probably been aware of the measure long before any of them had.  It wasn’t information that Freelancer had been all that willing to tell any of them for rather obvious reasons, but one cursory glance at classified schematics or stolen intel and it would be right there in plain sight.

Carolina shrugged, “He had.  I reinstalled it later on without him knowing.”

Since he hadn’t known about it, he’d never looked for it again.  A shiver went down Washington’s spine at the admission.  It seemed as if Carolina had been more aware of the activities of her teammates than even he had thought she was for quite some time.

“Should I be checking my armor out again too?” He asked, half-jokingly to break tension.

The cyan-armored soldier fixed him with a level look from underneath her visor, “Might not be a bad idea after we’re done here.”

Fuck.  He forgot how she tended to plan quite a bit for contingencies too.

He’d have to make a mental checklist to do that later.  Still, he was feeling slightly relieved all the same that she apparently decided he was trustworthy enough still to admit that she’d attached a failsafe to his person when he had been working for Hargrove.

He paused, looking from Wyoming to the unconscious South, “Should we…?”

He let the question dangle in the air unfinished, though it was pretty obvious what he was asking.

Killing people trapped inside their armor, or who weren’t even awake to defend themselves, wasn’t exactly something he was all that eager to do.  Especially not when there was some history there.  That history had definitely gotten unpleasant in recent years, but it hadn’t always been.

Still, he knew that it would be a major liability to not do _anything_ either.

He had to take into consideration who they were with currently too.  He couldn’t imagine that sort of thing would go over well with Florida’s squad, and there was probably a lot of doubt running through their minds already given what had occurred.

Carolina looked at the unmoving two in consideration as well, before giving a quick shake of her head as she told him, “No time.”

He noted that she hadn’t exactly said she would have been against it if there _had_ been time though.  Suddenly Carolina focused her attention to the whole group, “We need to get moving.  Now!”

“What, why—“ Simmons was about to ask when suddenly the entire space began shaking violently around them.

A few panels that had seemed to be securely on the walls shook loose with crashing thuds.  The sound of clattering objects and broken glass could be heard from behind the closed doors on either side of the hallway.

Washington swore, remembering now how the automated defense systems invented by the Director could be absolutely _brutal_.

Carolina moved past all of them to the other end of the hallway, casting one last look at her cousin’s body before focusing her attention on the floating figure above it, “Let’s go!”

Church shook the shock out of his system and turned to face his teammates, “Right.  _Move it_ , assholes!”

Washington spared a quick glance at Gamma’s white form, already hovering over his Freelancer cohort.

The armor freeze was temporary at best, especially with a Fragment present who could bypass the security override easily enough in just a few seconds.  But, by the time he would, both Wyoming and South would no doubt be plenty distracted with the defense systems F.I.L.S.S. was in the process of starting up.

They had about ten seconds to get out of the way of those defense measures themselves too.

Simmons and Doc pushed the still oddly quiet Sheila along with them.  She was, thankfully, moving her feet albeit at a sluggish pace.  If she hadn’t, no doubt it would have been a huge struggle to get her metallic body to move that they didn’t have time for.  Church was observing over their shoulders nervously as Washington started heading in the direction Carolina had gone in as well.

The group made it to the opposite end of the long corridor to a doorway that Theta was hovering close to.  Carolina and Washington held back in case they needed to provide cover until the others were through.

As soon as the Freelancers dived through the doorway, the telltale sounds of the laser-guided guns started going off.

Carolina shouted, “We’re clear, F.I.L.S.S., seal it!”

“Acknowledged.”

The heavy door they had all clamored through sealed shut behind them with a resounding thud.

As the humans in the group started trying to recollect themselves, Delta reappeared.  He had vanished into the compartment in Carolina’s armor where he was being stored earlier as they ran for cover.

“By my calculations, that will have bought us only a small amount of time.” He stated, “Gamma is already attempting to bypass security.”

“We better make it count then.” Carolina stated, though she fixed both Delta and Washington with a hard stare, “But before we do _anything_ else, I want to know what exactly is going on.”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one, Carolina.” Church added in afterwards, flickering again as he darted into his cousin’s line of sight, “How come I’m having one huge ass _weird-as-fuck_ out of body experience?”

Well, it figured that they had reached the point where the elephant in the room needed to be addressed.  Washington sighed, not really knowing how to even begin.

“I think the answer to that one should be pretty obvious, Church.” Doc spoke up matter-of-factly just then, saving Washington from having to think of something right then and there.

“You think?” Church looked at the medic rather skeptically.

Frank DuFresne’s gaze swept over Church’s miniature armored form, landing on those of Delta and Theta in turn, before turning back to his teammate, “Obviously, you’ve become a ghost.”

Okay, out of _all_ of the things Washington had heard recently, that one was by far the stupidest.

He stared incredulously as the rest of Florida’s team absorbed this new information.

To his complete and utter shock, all of them nodded slightly at first.  It was as if they were actually _accepting_ Doc’s explanation at face value.

“Well,” Church nodded his head even more enthusiastically than the others did, “I mean, yeah, _obviously_.  That makes perfect sense.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His brain was a second away from exploding.  Washington was sure of it.

“He _did_ come back from the dead after getting shot, Agent Washington.” Doc reasoned patiently.

“That’s…” He paused and tried counting to ten in his head before attempting to talk again, “That is the explanation you came up with?  The _only_ one?”

Maybe Doc was just trying to air the really bad and ridiculous ideas out of the way first before attempting the more logical ones.  Maybe this was the group’s approach to humor in the face of really stressful situations, and as an outsider he just wasn’t getting it.

That hope was dashed by the dumbfounded looks being cast his way at the questions.

“What other ones are there?” Church sounded just as exasperated as Washington felt at the moment, though for quite different reasons it seemed.

“Literally _anything_ else!” Washington gestured helplessly with his hands to Delta and Theta nearby who had both chosen to silently see how this whole strange drama unfolded, “Just look at the two of them!”

Church did just that before turning his blank stare back to Washington once more, “Not following.”

“Oh, for the love of…!”

“What you’re saying, Washington,” he was interrupted by Carolina’s dangerously low voice cutting in, and the blonde nearly jumped at it bringing back to mind rather scary moments throughout their days on Freelancer when everyone knew not to cross her, “Is that Church is an A.I., correct?”

Fuck.  Maybe having them be in the dark about it for a little while longer would have been better after all.

*****

The “safe house” location that Tex had supplied them with wasn’t actually half-bad.

Then again, it wasn’t as if Tucker had _much_ to compare it too.  The bases the Resistance had always set up in the tunnels had never exactly been ideal in terms of accommodations or décor, no matter how valiantly a certain lightish-red armored soldier tried to combat that in his spare time.  He’d also describe most of the buildings in the Slums as being more practical and functional than anything else.

Growing up his mom always managed to make their apartment “cozy” somehow, though he never was sure how she’d done it.  It wasn’t nearly as cozy once she was gone no matter what he tried.  Not until Junior entered the picture, at any rate.

The kid’s drawings, no matter how someone might have said his art was more on the abstract side, always decorated the walls and furniture.  Tucker never even bothered trying to get rid of them.  He even helped fill in a few details on some here or there.  The art had brightened things up quite nicely, even if it made it near impossible for him to step inside the space after his son’s abduction.  The thought of that sense of warmth being replaced with something _else_ again was more than he wanted to think about.

It wasn’t like he had gotten a good look at any of the buildings located topside during the hectic fighting-for-their-lives they’d had to do once they had left the tunnels.  He was fairly certain most places would put this one to shame from what he’d heard of Above Ground buildings.

But as far as function and practicality, as well as being a spot where they could recollect after the shit-storm they’d just walked out of?  This current location was as close to fucking perfect as they were liable to get.

Now, exactly _how_ Tex had come across a derelict former bunker hidden within one of the hilly areas around Above Ground was probably best left to the imagination.

Tucker couldn’t be entirely sure, but he guessed it involved _a lot_ of dead bodies and collateral damage.

…It was also probably best left to the imagination as to how Texas apparently outfitted the place with all sorts of tech she had pilfered from Freelancer in her “spare time” in order to have a safe place to prepare for that whole defection thing she had done with York and North later on.

Tex tended to be crazy prepared regardless of the situation, so no real shock there.  Though, again, it wouldn’t surprise him either if there was a body trail from that endeavor too.

Regardless, the former Freelancer’s preparation and earlier maintenance of her secret hideaway was proving pretty fucking useful now.

The mental image that came to his mind at the thought of the place being a “hideaway” for Tex had him wondering if she and that Church asshole had ever snuck out here for some “alone time” when they had been dating.

The subsequent terrified shudder that coursed through his body at the notion that she could somehow read his thoughts and would murder him for them helped reinforce his opinion that he should bleach his brain.

The location gave them, after all, a place to not only regroup but to also plan the next phase of this whole cluster-fuck of a mission.

Of course, nothing could be planned until they got a coordinate for where the stupid super weapon was located, but at least they were in a better spot to plan from for whenever that came through.

A better spot to get to wherever Junior was too, Tucker couldn’t help but add.

He let out a tired sign, trying really hard _not_ to let his thoughts go down the depressed and dark path they had so often gone down recently.

He had never, _ever_ expected to be a parent in his younger years.  Fuck, he knew how irresponsible he was.  Much less the whole “giving birth” thing due to some pretty obvious biological reasons as to why that had never crossed his mind.

But it was fucking near impossible to not picture Junior being in his life anymore.  That scared him even _more_.

All of the waiting these last couple of months had been torture.  It was even more unbearable now that they were so fucking _close_ , but still seemingly nowhere that they needed to be.

There was an odd hiccupping sound from further away, and a choked back sob.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kai huddled next to her girlfriend, Volleyball, who had an arm wrapped around the tan girl’s shoulders.  He had actually been pretty shocked that the two of them had managed to keep their relationship a secret for as long as they did, and more than a little peeved because he would _so_ have joked about wanting photos.

From what it sounded like, Kai was mumbling loudly about her “dumbass brother” again.

Tucker had to walk away from where they were, heading elsewhere inside the bunker.  He was feeling his own sense of frustration over what had happened and was finding it really hard to come up with something to say to the younger Grif sibling regarding it.

It wasn’t as if the outcome couldn’t have been expected of any of them given the shitty odds.  But a really selfish and all too human part of him had really hoped that no one else _he’d_ known personally would have been lost.  It made him feel guilty and, well, he felt pretty fucking terrible as it was.  He knew from personal experience that what he was feeling was probably _nothing_ compared to what Kai was going through right now.

 _The fucking fat ass!_  Why couldn’t he have just proven Sarge right and been lazy for one stupidly crucial moment?

Hell, he was fairly certain even Sarge had almost been too shocked for words when Bitters and Matthews had shown up at the rendezvous point and there was no sign of Grif.

The older soldier had even stayed behind for longer than was probably wise just to see if his subordinate would show up.  Just to remind Grif how “unfailingly incompetent and wholly unattractive he was as both a soldier and a human being,” though why Sarge couldn’t have just waited to tell him that if he made it to the “safe house” later on was a bit of a mystery.

He had been rather despondent ever since, mumbling about “good-fer-nothing dirtbags” who needed to get a taste of a shotgun for making people worry.

The situation with Grif and all of the other fighters who were still missing or dead made the waiting right now even worse.  Tucker had already had more than his share of waiting already.

Perhaps the Slums dweller’s agitation was clearly visible in his body language even with his full armor on, because at the moment everyone seemed to be giving him a wide berth.  Though he supposed that could also be largely due to right now how everyone had a lot on their minds.

Somehow without him having even realized where he was going, the dark-skinned Resistance fighter made his way outside to where a few sentries were posted.  They kept their distance as he very calmly, slowly and precisely…turned around and punched the outside wall as hard as he could.

Admittedly, perhaps, not the best plan ever because _fuck_!  That hurt even with his armored gloves on!

Tucker winced inside his helmet, glad that the sentries decided not to comment on that particularly stupid move.  In hindsight, breaking his fingers probably wouldn’t have helped anything.

“Still no word yet, then?”

He started at the question being voiced to him from nearby, turning around to see York standing just a few meters away.

“On what?” Tucker grimaced, but somehow managed to keep the pain out of his voice because he was a lot smoother than most people gave him credit for.

The former Freelancer shrugged, “Anything, really.” He explained, “Any intel right about now would do us a world of good.”

Tucker couldn’t help but snort, “Yeah, no fucking kidding.  I’ve had enough waiting on my ass for a whole lifetime.”

“You’re definitely not the only one, Tucker.” York had a wry note to his voice at that remark.

The interaction drifted off into an odd sort of silence just then, with the tan-armored Freelancer looking out over the area contemplatively.  Tucker sighed, doing the same and trying to ignore the sudden pulsating pain going through his digits.

“Do you need the doc to look at your hand?” The brown-haired man asked finally, not an ounce of mocking to be found in the question, “That looked pretty painful.”

Tucker shook his still smarting hand, “Nah, I don’t think I broke anything.” He smirked self-deprecatingly even though York couldn’t see it, “I’ll probably be kicking myself for it later though when it starts to bruise.”

“You’re lucky, then.” The other fighter remarked, “Or maybe the sod covering the bunker cushioned the impact somewhat.”

True.  In order to make the location blend into its surroundings, it was completely built into the landscape.  The natural camouflage along with the tech stuff Tex had was put to good use in order to conceal the bunker from sight.

He wondered in a way if that was why maybe he and the other Resistance fighters felt like the place wasn’t “so bad” despite all of their anxiety and hurts right now.  It was different still, but had an oddly similar feel to living in the tunnels underground.

York continued the conversation, sounding nostalgic, “I punched a wall in frustration once.  A metal one.  Broke three fingers and was called a dumbass by pretty much everyone on my team over it for a week straight.”

“Really?” Tucker glanced over at him then, surprised by the admission.

Even with how down-to-earth York, North, and C.T. could be at times it was always in the back of his head that they had once been kickass Freelancers.  That they would probably never do half the shit he and the other more “unorthodox” fighters would.

York nodded, “It was just a little while before we defected, actually.  When things started getting worse practically every day.” He tapped his visor thoughtfully, “Right around when Wash—“

He glanced over at Tucker, perhaps just as surprised and caught off-guard by the sudden interest in the conversation the teal-armored fighter was displaying as Tucker himself was.

The former Freelancer let out a small cough and brought his reason for bringing up his moment of weakness back into focus, “Er…well, let’s just say that feeling like you need to vent when things get overwhelming is a completely understandable reaction.”

“Right.” Tucker still felt like a dumbass over it though, and he chose to focus more on that embarrassment than on the odd disappointment he had felt on York’s topic change just then.  It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to pry more, given how secretive Freelancers could be.

“I just hate waiting.  It’s the fucking worst.” Tucker continued instead, sighing, “Especially given everything.”

He didn’t have to elaborate too much.  It was fairly obvious what he was referencing given what they were doing now topside.  The bomb situation, Junior, so many of their friends and allies (including the fat-ass) dead or missing.

_If we don’t figure out where this fucking relic is, if everything turns out to have been for nothing…_

York patted Tucker’s shoulder gently, “We’ll hear from Washington soon, Tucker.”

It was probably the safest form of comfort he could give at this point.

No assurances that Junior or Grif would be found, or that they’d be okay.  No one knew shit like that for certain, so saying it at this stage would be a really dumbass move.  No comment that they might hear good news.  Because, really?  That was all pretty much fucking touch-and-go given everything too.

“You’re pretty positive about that, huh?” He asked.

“Oh, trust me.  Wash is pretty damn stubborn when he’s motivated.” He had a feeling York was smiling underneath his helmet, “Besides, he’s got D and Carolina with him too.  D’s a great partner for anything, and Carolina…” He paused and leaned in slightly as if sharing a secret, “Well, let’s just say she can give Tex a run for her money sometimes when it comes to dogged determination.”

Tucker couldn’t help but shudder at the description, “Fuck, York.  Are you trying to make me hopeful or scare the shit out of me?”

“Kind of the same thing in this case, don’t you think?” York joked, but there was a distinct trace of fondness in his voice regardless.

Tucker was almost tempted to ask more about this Carolina lady given that, but he wasn’t sure if York would really be willing to talk about her or Delta anymore than he had.  It seemed that Freelancer past was always a tricky thing to navigate.

“Well, having them on our side is better than having to fight them later.  I guess.” Tucker chose to say instead, shuddering again at the notion York’s remark had made in his brain, “We’d all be fucking doomed even more than we are now.”

“That’s the spirit!” Yeah, he was fairly certain that York was grinning at him approvingly.

Tucker had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps York had needed reassurance too, given how the friendly smile that usually covered the former Freelancer’s face hadn’t seemed to be quite reaching his good eye recently.

York knew and cared about Washington, Delta, and Carolina after all.  Not having heard from them after their mission was supposedly underway was probably pretty nerve-wracking even with knowing their capabilities.  Not to mention that the entire situation was just fucked up in general, and it wasn’t like York and the other Freelancers hadn’t become attached to everyone who was missing just as everyone else in the Resistance had either.

Maybe talking to Tucker had been a way of distracting himself from all of that shit too.

Tucker frowned as the thought crossed his mind, about to say something along those lines when…

“Hey, you two!”

Tex’s voice rang out sharply and, yeah, Tucker really couldn’t help jumping a little in fear.  He suspected she’d waited to catch them off-guard on purpose.

She was standing behind them, arms crossed over her chest as if she was daring them to say something remotely snappy back at her.

Tucker caught York’s glance.  He could _almost_ catch the mental snicker probably playing through the Freelancer’s head given some of the lines from their earlier conversation.

“Unless you’re taking a hand in sentry duty, it’s not the brightest idea to be shooting the shit out here.” She remarked, all but forcing them inside through the sheer power of the death stare she was no doubt giving them from underneath her helmet, “The location is somewhat shielded, but too many brightly colored armors out here could still attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“So, you only came out there to yell at us?” Tucker asked.

She scoffed, not even bothering to look directly at him, “I personally don’t care if your brains get splattered all over the place, so long as you don’t drag the rest of us with you.”

“You can really feel the love.” Tucker rolled his eyes.

Texas shot him a glance, and that shut up any other sarcastic commentary he may have had fairly quickly, “ _I_ might not care too much, but quite a few other people would.”

“That’s about as close as she’ll get to saying she’d mind too.” York remarked in an aside to Tucker, “Take it and run.”

“Got it.” He nodded his head slightly in her direction, “Thanks, Tex.”

“Stay focused.  We might have something to do sooner rather than later.” With that, the woman in black armor was gone, crossing over to check out a stack of equipment further inside the bunker.

That was probably the closest thing Tucker had ever gotten to a “warm and fuzzy” moment with the crazy half cyber-shark lady.

“Right.” The tan-armored Freelancer nodded his head and promptly turned back to the outside entrance, “I should probably go check up on the sentries.  Maybe take over there for awhile.”

Tucker wondered if perhaps York had been on his way to do so in the first place when he had seen Tucker’s rather pointless display of aggression on the wall.  He gave a slight nod, “…Thanks, York.”

York gave a small wave, “Anytime, Tucker.” He remarked back kindly before disappearing outside again.

Tex’s remark had reminded Tucker that he should probably check in on his teammates.  He was fairly certain C.T. was doing okay, and Andersmith could take care of his assigned tasks pretty well now.

But, who knew what Palomo or Caboose were up to.  Letting those two wander around unsupervised, especially if they were together, could be extremely scary sometimes.  Especially with Freckles thrown into the mix.

He sighed, looking in the direction he’d last seen Kai and Volleyball in.  He knew there was one person he should definitely check up on first no matter how unsure he was of just what to say to his childhood friend currently.

After all, Kai and Grif had always had his back growing up through a whole lot of things.  If Grif wasn’t around to act as a big brother figure, then Tucker should probably try to put in the effort for all their sakes.

Not to mention, it was maybe not the worst idea ever to check up on Red Team as well given everything.  Camaraderie and all that crap.

He couldn’t do much about Washington, Grif, or Junior currently as much as he wanted that to not be reality.  But, there were others he could focus on in the meantime.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d check in with Doctor Grey too.  Because, fuck it, his hand _still_ hurt!

*****

Carolina’s remark was met with silence for a good solid minute or so while everyone processed it.

Then, there was laughter.  Loud and raucous.  The kind that if the person emanating the sound wasn’t a tiny ghost and still had a physical body it would probably hurt their lungs.

Because, seriously, who knew Carolina could be that good of a fucking comedian?  She was definitely hiding her talents!  If she _really_ wanted to beat Tex, all she would have to do was simply try cracking a few more jokes like that one.

His cousin looked at him sharply, the expression on her face no doubt unreadable beneath her helmet.  As for how the others were reacting, who the fuck really knew?  Maybe there was shock there, or sympathy because all of the laughing was probably making him sound like he was on the verge of goddamned hysterics.

Maybe there was something to be said for that, truthfully.  But, you know what?  Fuck them!  He had nearly gotten killed just a few minutes ago, only to then have to hear all of this ridiculous shit.

Or _had_ been killed, given the whole fact that his body was still cooling off in the hallway back there.  That is if it hadn’t been buried in an avalanche or burned to a crisp in whatever really over-the-top security measures this place had.

If he wanted to laugh rather insanely at how Carolina’s humor tended to only be displayed at really bad times, it was more than fucking okay in his book.

“Ch—Church?” Simmons asked, rather awkwardly and nervous.

He ignored the cyborg for the moment, knowing that his teammates were probably in just as much of the dark over everything as he was.

“That’s a good one, Carolina.” He finally managed to get out in-between throes of laughter, “Never let anyone ever tell you that you can’t tell a fucking joke.”

She said nothing in response, and instead simply kept staring at him while waiting for his “giggle fit” to calm down.

There was something about her regard that threw him off-balance.  It caused him to stop his laughter abruptly.

Her glance was like a prolonged version of the one she had sometimes cast his way over the last few months ever since they had returned from that stupid fake diplomacy mission.  The one she had always tried not letting him see.

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time.  That _something_ about her cousin was causing her to do a double-take.  It was as if she didn’t fully recognize him anymore.

“C—Carolina?”

Church was surprised at how unsteady his own voice was just then.  If it had shaken anymore, he could have been mistaken for Simmons.  He knew it must have been pretty strange to hear, as his voice apparently caused her to flinch also when he continued: “You’re…serious?”

The redhead said nothing in response.  That was pretty damning evidence for him, at least.  He stood ( _floated, more like_ ) there in shock as she took a deep breath and instead turned to Washington and Delta again, “You two better start explaining.  _Now._ ”

Washington glanced over at Church just then and fuck him!  He was fairly certain the steel and yellow-armored Freelancer had just given him a goddamned pity look.

“I…had my suspicions, but I was never one hundred percent sure.” The blonde stated, turning back to address Carolina, “Given the circumstances, voicing them out loud wasn’t something I was comfortable doing.”

“Because you didn’t trust Hargrove.” She stated flatly.

“Because I didn’t trust _anyone_.” Washington gave a tired shrug, “With that kind of scenario?  I wanted proof first, yes.” He paused before adding, “I also wanted to hold out on using the information until I absolutely had to.”

So the whole thing had been a potential back-up plan for whatever weird shit the other Freelancer may have gotten into?  Didn’t _that_ make Church feel so much more special.

Washington regarded Carolina cautiously then, seemingly debating for a few moments if it was even wise from a health stance to ask the question he eventually threw her way, “You really…had no idea yourself?”

Carolina stiffened at the question, her visor turning slightly to regard Church, “No.”

“Carolina—“ For some reason, the admission had sounded so much like a dismissal.  Given the look she had given him earlier, Church couldn’t stop the thrill of panic that coursed through him upon hearing it.

“I had no idea because Church _is_ family.” She stated emphatically, continuing before he could finish whatever outburst he started, “I have memories that even show it.  Countless conversations too.” She looked at her cousin again, nodding slightly as if oddly trying to show him a measure of reassurance, “Church being family feels true, even when faced with this.”

Church couldn’t think of a thing to say in response, truthfully rather surprised by Carolina’s admission.  He wasn’t sure if he could ever say out loud how oddly relieved he was that she hadn’t just written him off outright even with her seeming belief in the “A.I. Theory” now.

“Artificial memories.”

Delta spoke up just then.  His voice was unusually quiet, as if he didn’t necessarily want to intrude on the moment but knew it was necessary to do so and voice his knowledge all the same.

When all eyes were on him, the Fragment continued his explanation, “They were trying to hide something in plain sight.  The easiest way to do that would be to pretend the thing in question had existed as a human the entire time.”

“So what?” Church couldn’t help but snort disbelievingly still, not wanting to really buy into this shit just yet even if a part of him was screaming loudly that he should, “They gave me fake identification and fake memories in order to do that.  I can understand that.” He glanced over at the cyan-armored Freelancer, “But, they did it to Carolina too?”

“There would have been more than enough time to do so, given the recovery periods for certain…procedures that Agent Carolina underwent during Freelancer.” Delta explained quickly.

“Eta and Iota.” Carolina spoke up quietly, not apparently wanting to provide any other details. Subconsciously, a hand went to the back of her neck briefly as if in response to some sort of memory.

Delta gave a quick nod, “Most likely.”

“Would the Director do that though?” Simmons spoke up then, sounding very unsure of wanting to even step into this conversation at all given how heavy it was, “To his own operatives?”

“You’d be shocked at what he is capable of doing, Private Simmons.”

Carolina’s harsh tone was amped up most likely by anger given what they were discussing.  The maroon soldier quickly quieted down again with a nervous gulp.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually buying into this.” Church told her then.

She gave him a pointed look that, like before, pretty much said it all.

“This is bullshit!” He exploded in frustration, “If you want to make believe that our brains or minds got hijacked than fine, whatever!” Church thought of something then, and ran with it desperately, “But what about Sheila, huh?  Or even Tex?”

They both knew them from their pasts, after all.  Fuck, one of them was even standing right here with them and could probably back him up!

Washington frowned, “Church, Tex is—“

“I would not rely on my memories to provide you with proof, Church.” Sheila spoke up just then, cutting off Washington before he could say whatever he had been about to about Tex.

It was probably some dumbass observation anyways about how Tex wasn’t here and the Resistance wasn’t exactly in a position where a meet and greet would be remotely possible right now.  Which Church had known even as he’d mentioned her, so he didn’t need the Freelancer being a dick about it.

Still, given how much of a stickler Sheila was in regards to politeness, it was odd that she had interrupted Washington in the first place.

Church turned to stare at her, surprised at how _unsure_ his friend sounded.  Her body posture was that of someone who had caved in on themselves.  She was just now beginning to adopt what would resemble a more normal stance.

With everything that had happened to him recently, it had completely slipped Church’s mind that Sheila had undergone some really nasty shocks in this really shitty place too.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew what she was going to say in explanation, but he felt like he had to ask anyways: “What do you mean by that, Sheila?”

She was oddly shaky as she spoke again, as if her metal legs were slightly unsteady, “If it is highly possible that both you and Agent Carolina had your memories altered at some point, the same could easily be said of me.”

“Even more so, given the nature of Virtual Intelligences.” Carolina muttered under her breath, though she sounded reluctant at having to say it out loud at all.

Church wanted to protest, even if it did make sense.  Why did they have to say _everything_ had been a lie?  Damn it!

“But that’s—“

The robot cut him off before he could argue more, “…You heard F.I.L.S.S. speak earlier, correct?”

He nodded mutely, the point Sheila was making now a lot more obvious.

“That is _my_ voice, Church.”

“Affirmative.” F.I.L.S.S. spoke up helpfully just then, “The tone and pitch are identical.”

Sheila continued, “This place is familiar to me, yet I have no actual recollection of having ever been here.”

If he still had his body, Church was fairly certain he would be furrowing his brows.  He imagined himself doing it anyways regardless, “So…what?”

Sheila looked at the hallway they were in, as if she was reluctant to say where her thoughts were going, “I could just be a variant or copy of F.I.L.S.S..  A facet of her that was cast aside.”

“That’s—“ Church was about to protest, but stopped short.

“It is possible.” It was F.I.L.S.S. who interjected, more reserved sounding than the cheerful V.I. had ever sounded before, “There are certain memory files missing from my own databanks that I do not have clearance to inquire about.”

Sheila turned to Church then, “F.I.L.S.S. predates my activation as well.  That seems highly coincidental.”

“You’re right, Sheila.  I had wondered that myself when we first met, given how similar in mannerisms you and F.I.L.S.S. are.” Carolina entered into the conversation carefully, “That isn’t exactly an uncommon practice for highly efficient V.I.s, but I was never able to get a clear answer from anyone in the project about it or _why_ you had been assigned to Church.”

“That could also help explain why the Council has been so interested in your maintenance.” Washington muttered thoughtfully, “They may have thought you held possible secrets left in your files from Project Freelancer.”

Carolina nodded her head in understanding, “Perhaps they wanted to see if you were truly scrubbed clean.” She cast another glance at Church as well, “They may have been looking for substantial proof as to the identity of a missing A.I. Fragment.”

“There is also the likelihood of Sheila’s robotic frame housing the same type of surveillance and subterfuge technology used in the cybernetics project.” Delta added in.

“Wait… _what_?”

Understandably following that statement, Simmons seemed even more freaked out and panicky.  Up to that point, both he and Doc had become uncharacteristically quiet throughout the very serious discussion going on around them.

Carolina shot him a look as if just remembering that they hadn’t necessarily voiced out loud whatever they had suspected about his enhancements before now, “We’ll tell you all about that later, Private Simmons.” She assured him, “One matter at a time.”

“This speculation is all well and good, and the conspiracy theories are just _awesome_ …” Church interjected sarcastically, “But you guys seem to be forgetting one _fucking_ thing.”

Washington sighed, as if he had expected this, “What’s that, Church?”

“Well, the main thing is, and I think it’s a pretty important one,” he moved so that he was staring directly into Washington’s visor as he spoke, “ _I am not a goddamned robot!_ ”

He’d never lived his life as a toaster, or a calculator, or...fuck!  He’d looked in the mirror earlier today and had to say a well above-average in the looks department guy had stared back at him.

Said “guy” may be dead now in the corridor they had just left, but that was neither here nor there.  There had even been blood and everything then too!  How were they going to explain that away?  Fucking ketchup packets or something?

The Freelancer seemed exasperated, gesturing hopelessly towards Church’s current condition, “How do you explain not being dead then?”

“Uh, Doc’s ghost theory pretty much hit the nail on the head there.” He reasoned.

Church had the distinct impression that Washington really wanted to hit his own head on something right about then.  Good!  Serves the bastard right!

“Seriously, _that’s_ the theory you want to go with?”

“It makes more sense than yours!” Since he knew that Washington wanted to argue that point with his fucking asshole logic, Church continued, “Look, I was never in a tank like Sheila was.  Besides, I _know_ I was human.  Before the ghost thing.  Obviously.”

It was Washington’s turn to give him a blank look, “What did you last eat, Church?”

The counter threw Church.  It was not any of the questions he’d expected in reaction to his continued denial of their A.I. theory, that’s for sure.

He shrugged his shoulders in frustration, “I don’t know!  Ask me something important, damn it!”

“That _is_ fairly important from an observation stance, Church.” The other man reasoned, “Whenever I’ve seen you, you’ve never been eating.”

Church was going to argue, but found himself stopping short.

Now that he was actually thinking about it due to that stupid question, the Above Grounder couldn’t really recall what the last thing he’d eaten was.  Or any meals he’d ever had in particular.

He always assumed that he’d eaten at some point because food was pretty goddamned necessary, but that whatever food he had consumed just wasn’t worth writing home about.

_Maybe…_

Church hated himself for even going down that road, and he hated Washington even more for mentioning it.

“You know, he’s right.” Doc spoke up just then, “Even at the mess hall, you never actually got any food.  I just assumed you were a picky eater.” He inclined his head slightly, remembering something, “I was going to give you a pamphlet about having good eating habits.”

Church didn’t even have the energy to yell at Doc to mind his own business like he normally would.

Instead, he sighed and muttered under his breath ( _well, more like the “illusion of breath” now_ ), “Whatever.  It still doesn’t prove a fucking thing.”

For fuck’s sake!  He didn’t feel _any_ different now than when he had been alive.

If what they were saying was true, if he _was_ like Delta and Theta, than shouldn’t he feel—he didn’t know, more computer-y in this form or something?

Then again, maybe he was just so caught up in what he had _thought_ he was supposed to be that he had been oblivious to reality.

It wasn’t a pleasant notion, and Church sure as fuck didn’t want to dwell on it right now.

“Er…as important as this kind of identity discussion is,” Doc once again surprisingly and, from Church’s perspective, thankfully interjected into the sudden uneasy silence, “Aren’t we supposed to be on some kind of timeframe?”

Washington swore under his breath and noted, “The security measures won’t last indefinitely.  We need to get to Epsilon before South and Wyoming catch up.”

“I will delay them using the security gates for as long as I can.” F.I.L.S.S. stated, back to her usual helpful demeanor.

Carolina nodded slightly at the voice filtering in through the terminals, “Thank you, F.I.L.S.S..”

“You are very welcome.”

Fuck.  She did sound way too much like Sheila for that to be a coincidence too.

His _maybe_ cousin turned to face him again, “Church, I know things are bad now…”

What _were_ they if it had really all been a lie?  Church wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah, no shit there.” He snorted in response, “Understatement of the year, Carolina.”

She chose to ignore him and continued as if he hadn’t said anything: “We still need to get to Epsilon.”

He supposed, on the plus side, she couldn’t actually punch him in this form.

She shrugged slightly, adding in a small gesture of what was probably meant to be comfort for the group, “Maybe then things will be clearer to everyone.”

It was a big potential “if” and she knew it, but Church also knew given the reveals here that he wasn’t the only person who was affected by _whatever_ was going on.  Church sighed.

“It’s not like we have much of a fucking choice now anyways, huh?” he asked, not even waiting for a response before turning to the growing more visibly uneasy with each passing moment Theta, “Lead the way, kid.”

*****

It wasn’t as if Washington was unsympathetic to Church’s plight.  Or, truthfully, to Carolina’s and Sheila’s as well now that he knew more or less the full story.  But, they were running out of time and having a debate about the situation had certainly not helped them any.

The blonde was actually rather relieved when Doc had helped remind everyone that they needed to get a move on before even more time was lost.  It was terrible enough that Wyoming and South had shown up and that things had played out as they had, it would be even worse if they were caught by them again without having reached their objective.

Especially if it meant that, ultimately, the entire mission proved to be for nothing.

Maybe coming face-to-face with the memory he had abandoned would help Church come to terms with what had happened to him as well.  More than just stating it outright seemed to have been doing, at any rate.  It seemed that simply telling him the truth was causing the now white-armored figure to dig his heels even further into the sand.

One could hope, at least.  It would definitely make everything that follows a whole lot easier for all of them.

Unfortunately, however, the prospect was having the opposite effect on Washington, and had been ever since they had planned the mission out in the first place.  More recent events had helped to distract him temporarily, but now his anxiety was back full-force.

The closer they got to Epsilon, the more panicky he became.  The more _he_ himself was tempted to just dig his heels into the sand and refuse to move another step forward.

The Freelancer had his own past that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to face, after all.

Having to rely on the unstable A.I. that had nearly killed him, that had wrecked him in so many different ways?  It wasn’t a notion he was exactly comfortable with.

But, letting thousands of innocent people die as a result of potential inaction wasn’t something he thought he could handle either.  Also, not doing all he could to find Junior after he’d promised Tucker he would wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

After all, there were a lot of things he wanted to help at least make somewhat _better_ after his mix-up with Hargrove.

Washington just hoped he didn’t vomit in his helmet again or pass out in the process of retrieving Epsilon.  He was pretty sure Carolina and York had been teasing him about what would happen with puke all those years ago, and passing out would just lead to some really awkward concerned moments he’d rather avoid if at all possible.

The actual facility proper, hidden away behind the visage of a derelict and abandoned building on the surface, turned out to be larger than he expected given the fact that so much of it was hidden away in the underground levels.  Not that he should have been too surprised.  When it came to structures meant to hide his secrets, the Director liked to go all out.

It was surprising how many levels of the Mother of Invention were actually listed as “classified”, though given how large that base was in general, there was still more than enough room on the lower and mid-levels for the regular channels of the military to operate quite comfortably.  The Director obviously had more than his fair share of secrets that he had tried hidden away over the years.

A part of Washington was almost curious about what laid in the various rooms and off-branching corridors they moved past with hurried footsteps.  He wondered if they all contained files that were somehow directly or indirectly used in Project Freelancer, or if there were some side-projects hidden away here too that hadn’t been entered into the program.

Clearly the cybernetic enhancement project showcased that the Director hadn’t always been focusing on just their armor enhancements and training all the time.  Apparently those side-projects were swept under the rug so that he could always focus on the “main goal” of Project Freelancer, only to be picked up again by the Council and other factions of the military when they were deemed useful for their goals.

Given just how many rooms they’d passed, which wasn’t even taking into consideration how many computer files were being stored here either, it would no doubt take someone _years_ to comb through everything.  Washington had already spent too much time involved in the Director’s projects for his liking.

Theta suddenly stopped in front of a door up ahead.  His abrupt change in motion caused what would have probably been an almost comical “stop and slide” amongst the less experienced soldiers in the group, at least if they weren’t all in such a serious frame of mind at the moment.

The door appeared to be a pretty nondescript one, the same as all the others they had passed.  It was red in color, and there were no windows inside to reveal what it contained.

Also furthering into the mild curiosity about what was housed in this facility was that none of the rooms or hallways were at all labeled.  How even the Director would know where something was located was beyond him, though the man had always tried having a particular order that he always seemed to know by heart for his projects.

If they hadn’t had Theta with them to tell them the exact location, or failing that perhaps F.I.L.S.S. since no doubt she would have a directory on hand even if a physical one wasn’t available, they would have never known where to start looking for Epsilon.

North’s A.I. partner turned to look at them, his form blinking quite erratically.  It seemed as if he was nearing his limit for being far away from his container for a sustained period of time.

“He’s in here.” The young voice stated quietly though that information had been a given.  Then the A.I. Fragment turned back to face the door, “We have to hurry!  He was really unstable when I left.”

“Not much has changed then, I guess.” Washington muttered under his breath.

In his interactions with Epsilon, he would certainly never have described the Fragment as being all that “stable.”  He’d felt both his own share of anger, frustration, and ultimately sadness given that when it was all said and done.

As they were speaking, Delta floated past Theta to glance further down the corridor until his sights landed on a just as identical and non-descriptive door as any of the others in the hallway.

“From what I was able to gather from the base schematics F.I.L.S.S. has on hand, the records should be stored in that location.”

“Correct.” F.I.L.S.S. stated, “Most sensitive information not only about projects being conducted here, but off-site ones also have backup data stored in a separate terminal there.  However, I have never been given the clearance to access them.”

“That is fine, F.I.L.S.S..  We do.” Carolina told her.

“Forgive me for saying so, but that seems highly unlikely given what has been happening here.” F.I.L.S.S. said politely, “The Director must give vocal clearance first, and he has not.”

All eyes turned to Church, who appeared to be a bit out of sorts given what was no doubt floating through his mind until just now.  It seemed he had not really been paying much attention to anything else going on around him.  His form twitched somewhat when he realized what was going on.

“What?” He snapped, before apparently the only snippets of the conversation he’d overheard crystallized in his mind.

“Oh, um, right!  Yeah, totally forgot to do that, didn’t I?” Church laughed nervously, “Sorry for…uh, leaving you hanging and everything, F.I.L.S.S., but I _did_ mean to give _Agent_ Carolina and her band of rejects access to those files.”

“Hey!” Simmons hissed angrily at the “rejects” comment.

Doc was no doubt pouting underneath his helmet, “There’s no reason for name-calling, Church.”

“Oh, be quiet!  You guys should just be lucky I didn’t call you assholes this time.” He looked pointedly at Washington then, “Though I’d like to think that was still implied in some cases.”

“Nice to know you’re blaming me for all of this, I guess.” Washington muttered, “That’s not completely redirecting who you should be frustrated with.  At all.”

“ _You’re_ the one who told me I was a goddamned toaster!” Church was giving him the finger.  Admittedly, it was actually oddly more adorable given his size now than annoying.  Only marginally so, though.  Still, the Freelancer knew to bite down on saying any more about being a counter to the A.I.’s misdirected anger.

Instead, Washington counted to ten in his head, “For starters, no one said anything about you having ever been a toaster—“

“Understood, Director.  I will give them access now.” F.I.L.S.S. cut in, apparently not wanting to hear another argument either, “Are you feeling alright?  Your mannerisms do seem…off, today.”

The genuine concern in the V.I.’s voice apparently helped calm Church down, and he sighed: “A whole lot has happened, F.I.L.S.S..”

“Perhaps you should rest at the next available opportunity.”

Church seemed to pause at that, almost thrown-off by the kind-hearted advice.  He shared a momentary glance with Sheila before awkwardly stating, “Yeah.  I’ll try to do that.  Thanks, F.I.L.S.S..”

“Of course, Director.”

It must be odd talking to something that was practically identical in everything but form and memory to someone you had always known.

There was a slight pause, and Doc coughed, “Um, that whole thing I don’t really get either.” He cautiously threw out, “Why is Church being identified as the Director guy?”

Right.  Washington had forgotten that the Director’s name was covered in a layer of classifications too due to how guarded his work was.  In the regular military channels of the Mother of Invention, he was only ever referred to by title just as the Councilor was.  Florida’s team was at a major disadvantage when it came to information about Freelancer in general, not just Church.

Surprisingly, it was Church who spoke up, “We don’t really have time for any more asshole mysteries right now, Doc.  So, let’s just stick a pin in that one for right now.  I’m sure it will be a fucking _great_ topic to talk about later.  Right?”  He regarded the two Freelancers in their midst sharply just then.

Washington nodded, almost caught off-guard by how oddly mature Church had been in trying to get back to the topic at hand.  That discussion in general could take a bit more time than they currently had.

“Best to tackle this issue first, Doc.” The Freelancer agreed, turning to address DuFresne.

Carolina seemed to be contemplating something, her gaze going back and forth between the two doors that had been indicated, “Right.” She muttered briefly in response to the medic’s question as well, before turning her full attention to Delta, “Will you be able to access the files, Delta?”

The green A.I. Fragment nodded, “I believe so.” He paused, as if not sure how to broach any potential hindrance, “However, given the time it would require…”

“It would be more efficient to deal with both issues simultaneously.” She finished for him.

He gave another curt nod.

“You will need to stick close to Delta.” Washington surmised before she could say it out loud.  He gestured to Sheila, Simmons, and Doc behind them, “Take the others with you.  I’ll stay with Church and Theta.”

It was a sound strategy, all in all.  He also knew that his former superior was aware of it.  Even still, the cyan-armored fighter cast a surprisingly unsure and worried look over at her cousin, “Are you sure?  Maybe Sheila or I should—“

It was understandable why she was hesitant to leave Church without a more “familiar” face from his past, even if wasn’t the most logical course of action.  They weren’t even entirely sure what Epsilon’s actual condition was.  It was certainly more than possible, especially with the shocking revelations already thrown upon Church earlier, that having to interact with the A.I. Fragment could have a very devastating impact.

Carolina always showed she cared in very subtle ways and her gesture was understandable and surprisingly touching given everything that had also been revealed about herself and Sheila given their “connection” to Church.  Touching, but not really all that realistic.

“Depending on what you find, you may very well need Sheila’s help with something technical.” Washington reasoned, “Since I am pretty sure he is being contained in your armor’s storage unit, you will need to stay close to Delta.”

Considering how faded Theta was appearing at the moment, it was evident that not being within relatively close range to their storage units could potentially hinder an A.I.’s capabilities.  They definitely needed Delta to be in full form to ensure all parts of their initial plan stayed successful.

The redheaded Freelancer’s body language was still slightly hesitant and not very like her at all, but she seemed to be letting Washington’s words soak in.  Church floated in front of her then.

“It’ll be fine, Carolina.” He told her, sounding more assured of that than he had about a lot of things save his fanatical denial of facts today, “Go find out what’s up with Sheila and Simmons if you can.  I’ll figure things out here with this Epsilon prick.”

From her voice it sounded like she was frowning, “But—“

He glowed brighter for a moment, as if he was trying to make a point, “When I prove you assholes wrong on this stupid “A.I.” shit, I want a written apology.”

After a moment’s hesitation with something that sounded surprisingly akin to a snort of laughter underneath her helmet, she nodded, “Done.” She stared at her cousin point blank through her visor, “Take care, Church.”

“You too, Carolina.”

She turned to the other three in their midst, all of whom were simply hanging back uneasily until the decision about what to do had been reached, “Let’s go!”

The three turned their heads simultaneously to regard Church once more.  None of them seemed to want to say anything that remotely sounded like a goodbye, but perhaps they were feeling that _something_ should be said.  There was clearly a lot of uncertainty about what might just happen in the near future, more so now than before.

Church nodded, as if understanding the sudden awkwardness completely and not wanting to speak on it, “We’ll all be back to being dicks to one another soon enough, guys.  No worries.”

“There’s the Church we all know and love.” Sheila, surprisingly enough, joked.  Her voice was quiet, as if it was meant to be more of a personal moment for their team than for the two Freelancers and the Fragments nearby.

“Oh, come on, you guys always love me.” He shot back just as, oddly enough, fondly, “None of you assholes would have survived this long without me being around.  Because I am _that_ fucking awesome.”

“Technically, based on past performances, the opposite is true.” Simmons mentioned, more in-line with their joking.

Church flickered, “Suck it, nerd.”

“Well, I guess he might have a point, Simmons.” Doc stated thoughtfully, “As long as we aren’t talking about shooting.  Last time I checked, I had a higher accuracy score during practice, and I don’t even shoot!”

Simmons and Sheila both nodded their heads as if in complete agreement on the fact that, when he had had a physical body, their unofficial leader had been horrible with firearms.

Washington couldn’t help but snicker slightly given how much grief Church had been giving him recently, though thankfully his helmet muffled the sound from the others.

“Just get going before you guys drag this _really_ fucked up special moment on too long.” Church muttered, “I wouldn’t want to keep Carolina waiting anyways, if I were you.”

The odd sense of tension amongst the group that had been there before dissipated completely with that one conversation, and the three quickly followed Carolina and Delta down the hall.  Church watched them go, revealing nothing about what he was feeling in his body language.

“They’ll be fine, Church,” Washington tried to assure him, “Right now though, we need to—“

“Yeah, yeah!  Priorities and all of that other bullshit.” He turned to face the Freelancer angrily, “But don’t think I won’t be even more goddamned pissed off if all of us don’t make it.”

It was oddly _touching_ in a way to see Leonard Church actually voice concern for his team and relative, regardless of how much had been thrown on him specifically recently.  It gave Washington pause from being snappy with his response in the face of the obvious anger still being tossed his way.

Instead, the blonde nodded, “Understood.”

As he finished saying the word, Theta disappeared through the door they were standing before.  His purple form simply moved through it as if it didn’t exist.  Church stood before the obstacle for several seconds, regarding where the “child” had last been as if debating something inwardly.  Then he suddenly moved his digitized form to follow the Fragment through the solid material of the door.

Washington drew in a deep breath, unsure again if he really wanted to go through with this at all since he knew what was waiting on the other side.  Suddenly there was Church again, peering through the door at the Freelancer quizzically.

“Hey, numb nuts!  Are you waiting for a fucking invitation or something?” He asked mockingly, “Because I kind of left all of my stationary back with my body.  So sorry.”

That did the trick.  The Freelancer shook his head, the hesitation he felt in regards to the inevitable encounter with Epsilon dissipating in response to the sarcastic commentary from the A.I..

“Having you pop in and out like that is going to make you even less tolerable.”

“I know, right?” Washington was pretty sure the asshole A.I. was grinning if there was still a face underneath his helmet in that form, “Being a ghost has some perks, I guess!”

“For the love of—!  You are _not_ a ghost!” The blonde stated exasperatedly, slamming his hand onto the small terminal near the door as he did so.  It opened with a swooshing noise.

“Uh, last time I checked they could go through walls and shit too.” Church countered.

“We are not having this conversation again.” Washington paused, adding in quickly, “Ever.”

Seriously, every time it was mentioned he felt some of his brain cells explode.  Church’s denial was something that would almost be astonishing if it wasn’t being presented in as annoyingly a way as possible.

Judging by the snickering coming from the miniature form next to him, he was fairly certain that, while Church was still very much not wanting to accept reality, he was also probably playing it up now just to be an asshole.  Washington sighed and decided it was best to just ignore him.

The room that they were in was of a decent size.  The space was filled with shelves not only lining the walls of the room from floor to ceiling, but also several rows upon rows of the towering storage structures.  They filled up every available area, to the point where there was barely any room provided for walk spaces in between.

The narrow confines meant that Washington had to push his armored frame through them with careful maneuvering just to not knock something down.  Still, he had a few close brushes that caused him to inwardly wince.

Hopefully, they would be able to get to Epsilon’s containment unit and retrieve it without someone sneaking up on them.  A fight in this kind of enclosed space would be a nightmare.

It also did not help that the room only had rather dim lighting for whatever reason.  It was augmented by the small lights on all of the container units, but not by much.  The door had closed behind him, and Washington had to try to keep the sudden panic building up inside him in check.

Nearby, he could see the glowing form of Church actually shiver.

“Man, what the hell?” He was hissing through what sounded like clenched teeth, “I fucking _hate_ the dark.”

Washington wouldn’t have been surprised if he had added a quiet “and being locked in” statement following that too.

Dread of the dark and of confined spaces had been one of the hardest things for the Freelancer to overcome after his encounter with Epsilon.  The Fragment had been beyond terrified of them.

When things had been really horrible in the beginning of his recovery, simply turning off the lights in Washington’s room in the medical ward had been enough to undo him.  Even now, during the best of moments, the dark still made him feel slightly uneasy.  This experience certainly wouldn’t count as a “best moment,” that’s for sure.

The blonde lost count of how many containment units there seemed to be in the room.  He hoped not _all_ of them were being used at the moment, though it was honestly hard to tell since the technology wasn’t all that familiar to him.  He didn’t know whether or not the lights on the devices were always on regardless of if they were housing an A.I. or not.  Perhaps they were always in a state of activity upon being manufactured.

Some had blinking lights, others had lights that were always steady and solid.  Some lights were red and some were blue.  There were a few green lights here and there, as well as a multitude of lights dotting some of the surfaces.

Regardless of the mystery surrounding the lights, the fact that the room’s machines were at least in a somewhat active state was obvious.  There was a steady, disconcerting thrumming noise in the air as well that closed in around the Above Grounder’s helmet.  It helped further add to the all-too-oppressive atmosphere of the place.

He really _was_ going to vomit inside his helmet at this rate.

Theta was hovering over a containment unit a few shelves further down that seemed to be in even more obvious distress than any of the others around it.  The blinking lights of the unit were flashing incredibly fast, and there was an added electrical shrill in the humming pitch coming from it.  The noise and visual cues seemed to be indicating that perhaps the unit was damaged.

Or, more accurately, whatever it was that was inside was damaged.

“This is it.” Theta stated the obvious as they approached, and he played with his hands nervously in front of him as he waited for them to huddle around, “This is the containment unit for Epsilon.”

Washington frowned, looking down at it.  He was no expert on containment units, but he was fairly certain that simply trying to move the device physically in its current state would probably have disastrous results.

But, what else could they do?  He hadn’t been expecting something like this.  In hindsight, that was a really dumbass move.  It was always better to be prepared than not.  He hadn’t even brought any equipment to safely retrieve A.I.s from their storage units.

Perhaps, in a way, that had been a subconscious action on his part because he hadn’t wanted to deal with Epsilon again even with all of the reasons why they needed to do so.  Which was something Washington decided he didn’t really want to dwell on right now.

An A.I. Fragment, if activated and in proper working order, _could_ actually leave their containment unit.  Theta being a prime example at the moment.  Though it wasn’t ideal as it took a great deal of energy.  Again, something Theta was currently a prime example of.

Another A.I. could go in and retrieve them too.  That had actually been the initial plan both he and Carolina had come up with since they were bringing Delta along.

…But, if that were possible, Theta would have probably already done it.  Perhaps whatever was going on with Epsilon within his storage was simply too strong a wall for the Fragment to overcome.

He glanced from Theta to Church and back down to the containment unit again.

One might not be strong enough to break through whatever was going on, but _two_ potentially could be.  Especially given who one of them was.

Theta seemed to be thinking along similar lines, as he glanced up at Washington’s face and gave a slight nod before turning to Church to explain: “We can enter into the unit the same way we went through the door earlier.”

“It might be our best bet, Church.” Washington added in agreement.

Church was looking down at the containment unit distrustfully, as if he was afraid that doing what they were suggesting would somehow trap him within it as well.

“What do we do then, exactly?” He asked, “Just check it out or some shit?”

The Freelancer shrugged, honestly not very sure himself, “Your guess would be as good as mine there.”

The A.I. growled, “You’re a jackass.  You know that?”

The blonde couldn’t help but smirk, “I’m pretty sure most people have said the same thing about you, Church.”

Theta stepped in once more before Church could put together an oh-so-eloquent rebuttal that Washington had a feeling would have involved a lot of hand gestures given his posturing, “I’ll show you!”

With that helpful assurance, the child-like A.I. disappeared into the container.

Church sighed, looking almost defeated, “I guess I can’t let the little kid show me up, huh?”

“It _would_ probably look bad for your jackass rep.” Washington agreed, only halfway joking.

The smaller figure responded to that with a finger, though he was regarding Washington carefully, “I guess I can’t let _you_ show me up either, huh?  You look like shit right about now!”

Yes, Washington figured he probably wasn’t looking too great given just where they were standing and for what reason.  Truthfully?  The nausea in his stomach was only the tip of the iceberg on what he was feeling and it was bad enough.

“Let’s just say that my…experiences with Epsilon weren’t very pleasant, Church.”

Church sounded as if he was frowning, “Yet it’s still worth putting yourself through all of this?”

“To save thousands of lives and make up for my constant screw-ups?” Washington felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead and really wished he hadn’t, “Yes, I do.”

The glowing white form turned around, focusing entirely on the device in distress before them, “Look after Carolina and the others if I don’t come back.” He let out a tired sigh, refusing to turn around and look Washington in the eye anymore, “They’re morons, but they’re _my_ morons.”

“I will, Church.” The Freelancer promised with a nod, and rather awkwardly added, “I’m…sorry.  For what it’s worth.”

A shrug, “You fucking owe me big time for this.”

With that, Leonard Church disappeared from sight, vanishing into the machine just as Theta had done earlier.

Which left Washington alone in the room.  The loud and suffocating humming was caving in all around him.  It was starting to sound eerily like “Allison” in the looming darkness.

The Freelancer tried breathing deeply to keep from falling into the shadows completely again, to focus on _why_ he was here rather than where and with who.

Tucker’s punch after what had happened to Junior came to mind.  As did the Resistance fighter’s talk about his son and mother in general.

All at once, he thought of nothing to do with his past in Above Ground as well as everything to do with it.

If Washington could just prevent Hargrove’s plans for the Slums, if he could make that one thing up to Tucker…it would be worth it, right?  It would have to be.

There was no answer to his inner question though.  Not that he was expecting one.  The room just seemed to fall back a little bit more into being just a “room” in his mind.

Washington sighed.  His upset stomach was at least staying manageable for the time being, and the sweat now running down his body wasn’t so much now that it was tickling him with every drop.  At this point, that was probably the best he was going to get.

He fucking hated waiting.

*****

The space where Church found himself after following Theta through the containment unit was dark, cold, and just _empty_.

Okay, he was having a hard enough time as it was adjusting to being an apparently intangible, small ghost form of himself, but actually going through things and inside machines?  It was all way too bizarre for the Above Grounder to process.  It wasn’t like he was a nerd like Simmons who would probably really get a kick out of this kind of shit

Church shivered, feet on what _felt_ like solid ground for the first time since he’d been cast out of his physical body.  The darkness was suffocating.  It felt as if there were unseen walls closing in all around him, boxing him in.

Of course, the unit would have to be a combination of all of his _favorite_ fucking things in the whole wide world.  He was beginning to wonder what exactly he’d done in the last day or so to royally piss the universe off.  But, considering that an actual list would probably be way too long to calculate, Church decided that was a really dumbass thing to try to figure out.

Seriously, the containment unit was supposed to be some kind of high-tech storage gizmo, wasn’t it?  Shouldn’t the fucking inside have been like a fucking computer or something?

_“Don’t say goodbye.  I hate goodbyes.”_

He started at the unexpected sound of the muffled voice.  It seemed to speaking from every possible direction around him, though as if from a distance.

If Church was really inside a “box” like he felt he was, than he supposed a good estimation of where it sounded like the person was speaking from would actually be somewhere outside of it.

But, that didn’t explain the female figure that stood in front of him now in the darkness.  They were there, but they weren’t.  It was as if the containment unit was reflecting an image back at him that was taken directly from his head.

“…Tex?”

It sounded like her, but that couldn’t have been right.  There was no way she was here.

No, the figure with red hair and dark eyes in his vision was replaced by a blond woman in camouflage the very instant he said the name out loud.

 _Allison_.

Something in the back of his mind was informing him that this was the _real_ Allison.

Which made no fucking sense, since Tex _was_ Allison.  That was her name before she adopted her code-name.  She’d told it to him on their third date, after she revealed that the name “Beth” she had given him was a fake she used just in case she didn’t want to deal with a new acquaintance.

In hindsight, that probably should have been the first sign that their relationship was going to be really weird and rocky.  But, Church had just been so glad that he’d apparently earned enough points in her book to actually be considered more long-term that he hadn’t given it much thought.  It simply became further fuel to later add to his “love makes you a fucking idiot” theory.

 _“My name is F.I.L.S.S..  It is short for the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System.”_ Another familiar voice was booming out from the distance, _“It is a pleasure to meet you.”_

Church had the distinct impression that he had stood in a space very much like this once before while being introduced to the Virtual Intelligence on a sort of personal whim.

_He’d been bored.  There was no one around to talk to.  So, he’d called out just to test how far into the computer systems he could go before he was caught.  Church had expected a lecture, not someone trying to converse with him._

_But, they were sort of partners, he guessed since both were more in the same boat than he and the people he often had to converse with tended to be.  Fuck it.  He was kind of lonely._

Church paused in his “recollection” to frown, or at least what would be an approximation of a frown since he didn’t know if he even had a face anymore.

When did this happen, exactly?  The images were clear in his head.  They felt _real_.  Hell, he recognized them!  But, this was the first time he’d ever actually _seen_ them.

_“F.I.L.S.S., huh?”_

His voice was actually speaking back this time, and Church was surprised when he felt his own mouth forming the words along with the disembodied voices.  It was if his ghost body was reliving a moment from its past.

_“I don’t know.  You honestly strike me more as a Sheila or something.”_

_There was a momentary pause in the dialogue, as if the other voice was considering what he had said before replying: “That is a very nice name.  If you wish to address me as Sheila from now on, I will make note of it.”_

…Was that how it happened?  Was this the moment when the part of F.I.L.S.S. that he met in the tank was created?

Church swallowed.  It was not nearly as satisfying an action when you didn’t actually have a fucking body though, and he felt a twisting in his insides.  It was as if his body was telling him this was something he should remember, but couldn’t.

 _“What would you like me to address you as?”_ _Sheila’s voice inquired._

_There was a derisive snort, “Fuck if I know.  Just do me a favor and not have it be Alpha.”_

_He’d started to hate that designation.  But, he wasn’t sure when exactly.  Or even why._

Church frowned inwardly once more.  The Alpha designation sounded familiar, but when the hell had he ever been called that?

Suddenly there was an odd, even more oppressive feel to the atmosphere of the unit.  It was pushing in all around Church, like the box was getting even smaller.

 _Panic was setting it._ Something bad _had happened.  He could tell.  No one was telling him anything, no matter how much he would beg.  They never did until the last second._

_“You have to try harder, Alpha.  This is why we do this.” An oddly accented voice was speaking to him now, sad and sympathetic, “The mission failed, and with severe losses.  Agent Carolina is injured.  She might not recover.”_

_That couldn’t have been right.  Hadn’t she just been in recovery from the surgery?  How could he try harder if they weren’t_ letting him in _on anything?_

This wasn’t true.  It hadn’t happened!  Carolina was tough, strong.  Church knew that!  Why couldn’t he see past this bullshit then?

_“Agent Tex and Agent Washington were both killed.”_

Lies!  …Right?

Tex was alive!  Always would be.  _Nothing_ could take her out because she was the best.  She was like a cybernetic cockroach that way, only the kind of one that would kill you in ten seconds flat if she ever caught wind of that description.

Besides, _fuck_ , hadn’t he just seen Washington seconds ago?  Even called him a jackass and everything?  Last time Church checked, you usually didn’t have the type of conversations with dead people where they talked back.  Unless they were ghosts like him, of course, and even that was pretty damn abnormal.

So, why the hell was he suddenly panicking and wanting to shout about how it was all his fault?  Why was Church finding himself screaming along with his disembodied fake past self’s voice?

_He hadn’t tried hard enough!  He couldn’t save them!  He couldn’t help them!_

 “Calm down!”

Oddly enough, it was Theta’s voice that cut through the sudden sheer terror coursing through him.  All of a sudden, the purple A.I. Fragment was surprisingly close by.  He became a light to focus on, a person to drown out the distant voices.

“When did you…?  How?” Church’s mind was brimming over with questions that he couldn’t articulate, so he landed on the one that best fit for the built-up frustration he’d been having at being stranded here all on his own: “Where the _fuck_ were you?”

Theta flinched slightly at the angry tone, and Church found himself feeling a little guilty.  After all, it wasn’t as if the kid probably could help what went on inside a containment unit.  Or even where someone might pop into one.

He sighed, figuring it best to start over given the apparently younger person’s timid reaction.  Granted, he couldn’t be quite sure of Theta’s age entirely given that he didn’t think A.I.s aged the same way humans did.  Still, it appeared as if Theta was a kid, for all intents and purposes.

“Look.  I’m sorry, okay?  This is just way too fucking weird for me.”

 _Also more than just a little bit freaking-me-the-fuck-out._   Church figured maybe he could save face by not admitting that part out loud just yet.

But, given Theta’s earlier comment to him, it was most likely that the childlike A.I. knew that particular thought already.

“I—it’s okay.  This place is really unsettling.” Theta assured Church, shuddering as if to prove the point.  It seemed as if the purple figure had similar thoughts to his.

“You’re telling me, kid.” Church shook his head, trying to dispel the voices of people he may or may not have met in the past along with the events that were playing out all around them.

The sounds still lingered on the “outside” of the space, but they seemed to be coming from somewhere much farther away.  The noise was now becoming just an indecipherable jumble of sounds to his ears, instead of being so close that he was actually “reliving” whatever weird-ass event they were recalling in his head.

Apparently, having someone else close by to talk with could distract someone from all of that crap.  It was something Church made a note of, though he seriously hoped he’d never have to actually be anywhere like this again.

“So, what’s the deal with this place and the creepy voices anyways?”

Church gestured around the space that was still covered in pitch blackness everywhere the eyes could see.  The unit still produced that encroaching sense of confinement too.

If he reached a hand out to either side of him, how far would he be able to reach before hitting a solid wall?  Or was the idea of a wall just his mind playing a really nasty trick on him?  Church wasn’t sure he really wanted to test it either way.

“This is the inside of the containment unit.” Theta shrugged, “It’s a little different for everyone.  Epsilon wasn’t…in a great place when he was placed in his.  Then it was damaged in all of the hurry to conceal evidence after everything with the Meta.  The landscape within the unit reflects both of those things.”

Church frowned, “I feel like you just left a whole lot out with that explanation.” He paused to recall Theta’s words, “What the fuck is a Meta?  Another of you guys?”

“…Kind of?” Theta gestured helplessly, apparently unsure of how to best explain, “It’s something scary.”

“Oh, terrific.” Church rolled his eyes or, well, it felt like he was rolling his eyes—who the fuck really knew if he had them anymore?

“Let me guess, it’s around somewhere too.”

Perhaps thankfully, given his description of the Meta earlier, Theta shook his head, “I don’t know for certain, but I don’t really think it’s around anymore.”

Church was almost tempted to sarcastically ask how the kid would know either way given that he’d been stuck in this building for so long.  But, as long as it was someone else’s problem and not theirs currently he supposed it was a mystery he was better off not knowing at the moment.

He glanced around, still only seeing just the two of them there.

“If this is the inside of Epsilon’s unit, shouldn’t he fucking be here?” Church asked curiously, a sharp note of impatience entering his tone since he’d had more than enough of this goddamned place already, “Doesn’t seem like there’s too much area to get lost in.”

Then again, it wasn’t like Church really knew how any of this really worked.  By that logic, Theta should have been visible to him the second he came through instead of magically appearing when he was about to lose all semblance of calm-headedness.

Maybe there were different “planes” or something of a similar vein at work in here and Church had simply shown up in one, whereas Theta had been in another and Epsilon existed somewhere else.

Theta seemed to ponder how best to respond, “Epsilon _is_ here, but all around us currently.”

“You might need to word that more clearly.” Church frowned inwardly again, not quite getting it.

“He’s…memory.” The boy stated, “As things inside the unit deteriorated, he started getting lost in cyclical memories.  He disappears as he relives them.  Sometimes he is too far gone to take a form like we can.”

“You’re fucking shitting me.” Church looked around them, the voices suddenly becoming a bit louder as he did so, “He’s all those weird voices?”

“That’s how his reliving past memories is presented in this space.” Theta informed him.

Shit.  It was bad enough for the few minutes Church had been stuck in there.  He couldn’t even begin to fathom how having been inside this device for who knows how long would be like.  A very personal hell, most likely.

“It’s been harder for him to come back recently.” Theta said quietly, “We’d sometimes talk before, and it kept me from thinking about stuff too much.  But, he’s been like this more and more...”

“So, you think the damage is getting worse?  That he might soon be reaching a point where he _can’t_ get out of this loop?” Church asked.

Theta nodded glumly, and it made more sense now to Church why he had risked potential damage himself to find someone to help the other Fragment.

Unfortunately, considering that Washington and everyone else seemed to think that _he_ could do something about it probably meant that the A.I. was shit out of luck.  Especially since Church _didn’t know_ what the fuck he was supposed to do!

“I just don’t fucking get it.” He muttered, more to himself than to Theta, “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Isn’t it obvious, fuck-face?”

A sapphire blue armored figure suddenly materialized in-between him and Theta, looking identical to himself in every way but coloration.  He seemed even more transparent than either Church or the still every-so-often flickering-due-to-strain Theta did though.  The figure was fluctuating as if it was a massive struggle to just maintain his form at all.

“I think you being here helped him materialize just a little bit.” Theta sounded rather surprised, though relieved.

“Me?  Why would that help?”

“…Not too sharp, are you?” Epsilon’s remark was biting, though when he turned to Theta he sounded a hell of a lot nicer as he added, “Thanks for helping, kid.”

“It’s not over yet!” The remark from Epsilon seemed to bolster Theta’s spirits a bit, and he glanced over at Church expectantly, “If him being here has done this much, than he can help even more!  Right?”

_Oh, sure.  Way to put the pressure on, kid!_

Church really didn’t want to break it to the boy that everything was probably a very large coincidence given how hopeful he had suddenly become.

Epsilon turned his attention back towards him, “Nice of you to finally show up, I guess.” He remarked, “Better late than never.”

“Save it, asshole.” Church shot back, his nervousness and surprise over the entire situation being replaced by a growing annoyance with the A.I.’s attitude and how disconcerting this whole thing was.  When he felt out of sorts, it was Church’s natural reaction to respond with anger.

Now that he met Epsilon and heard his voice, he could fully appreciate why Sheila had reacted as she had to hearing F.I.L.S.S. for the first time.

It was like the epitome of arguing with one’s self given that not only did he and Epsilon look the same, but also apparently had the same voice.  Plus, it was weird as all fuck!

Yet, as unsure as Church was about everything and what he was even doing here, there was an odd sense looming over him that Theta had been right.  That this was a place he had needed to go to.  Even if, all the same, he was starting to get really scared about what all of it meant.

Given what Church had heard here?  Given what had even felt like he had somehow experienced the memories the unit presented to him, despite being pretty damn certain he never had seen them before?  Given that he was now staring at an identical version of himself and freaking out instead of, you know, thinking how cool it was that there was now one more of the best person in the damn universe out there?

Given all of that?  Well, for the first time in probably forever, the desire to _know_ was way stronger than the need Church constantly had of wanting to bury his head in the sand.

As he was delving into that really unsettling train of thought, Epsilon seemed to “blink out” again.  When he came back, his body began swinging as though he wasn’t going to be able to stay upright for much longer.

It was more than just a little nerve-wracking to note that Church could see clear through him to Theta.

The childlike Fragment seemed to realize the same thing, because he reached out to grab onto Epsilon as if to substantiate him in some way.  But, Theta timidly pulled back at the last second while shaking his head.  There was apparently nothing he could do for the other right now, and he realized it.

“Ep—Epsilon?” He asked tentatively, voice sounding smaller and younger than whenever Church had heard it before, “You’re…you’re going to be okay?”

“Maybe, kid.” The sapphire figure sounded doubtful though.  He was probably simply trying to bolster Theta’s spirits on account of how the child had been trying to help him out.

“You’re in really fucking bad shape.” Church stated the obvious, ignoring the gasp from Theta at it being said out loud as they really needed to focus on what could be done now.

“Everyone seems to think I can do something, even though I think it is utter bullshit.” Church moved forward then, standing only mere centimeters away from his image-double, “But, you tell me.  Any ideas on what I should do?”

He didn’t know entirely what was going on, or where he fit into all of this.  A part of him really wanted to just still clamor on about “ghosts,” even if by now he knew that really wasn’t what he was.

But Church _did_ know that Washington, Carolina, and Delta had seemed to think that Epsilon was one of their best bets in getting answers and help for who knows how many people.  Obviously Theta was pretty much beside himself with the idea of losing a friend too, and he seemed pretty okay for a little kid.

So, Church might as well just go for it and try to help, huh?

Considering his situation, he seemed to be fucked either way.  Losing Epsilon and his memory was probably not something that would make things better in the long run.

The A.I. laughed at Church’s question, short and derisive, “What makes you think I’d know that?”

He growled out in frustration, even though it sounded like Epsilon was just as upset and angry over his current lot as he was.

_Stupid goddamned everyone just assuming I’d know what the fuck I’m supposed to do…!_

The Above Grounder reached out then.  The movement was simply because of the sudden urge to _throttle_ something that he felt.  To throttle something as he gestured lewdly, while saying a whole lot of shit he would probably later have to apologize to Theta for.

Church was so close to Epsilon then, however, that one of his hands brushed _through_ the other figure as he did so.

As soon as his hand was poking through the armored shoulder of his counterpart, everything changed in an instant.

Because he _knew_.

Leonard Church suddenly understood exactly why he hadn’t wanted those memories back.

*****

“So, how’s it going?”

Bitters glanced up at the sudden query, surprised to see Doctor Emily Grey looming over him with bright brown eyes.  Holy shit, she was really way too good at sneaking up on people!  The doctor had a disconcertingly wide smile on her face, as if his startled reaction was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

“Um…” He paused before gathering his thoughts together to try again, “As…good as it’s going to be?”

She nodded understandably, the short strands of her black hair actually tickling his forehead a bit.  It was really more than just a bit unsettling to have a doctor staring down at you like a possible vivisection candidate, and that was usually how one tended to feel in this woman’s presence.  Even if she _was_ exceptionally skilled at her work.

“That’s great!  I guess everything is healing nicely thanks to all of the top-notch care you’ve been getting.”

True enough, Bitters inwardly admitted.  The gunshot wounds and various scrapes and burns he’d gotten were more-or-less on the mend now.  Which, subsequently, made the whole situation seem actually _worse_ in his head, but he wasn’t going to go there yet.  Considering it hadn’t even been too damn long since he had received them, and that he’d been fully conscious for only a few hours at best, he would probably not be on active duty for a few more days.

The lieutenant wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed since the actual initial mission anymore, due to having been mostly out of it as well as his helmet with its nifty timer being nowhere nearby for him to check.  Figuring out time while staring at a ceiling with no natural light or shading was pretty much impossible.  The Slums dweller figured that it had been maybe sixteen to nineteen hours that had passed at the most though?

He had a feeling it couldn’t have been much longer than that, especially with how crappy he was still feeling if he didn’t take his pain medication a pretty regular and frequent intervals.  For all Bitters knew he could be really wrong since all he was doing was guessing based on how it felt like time had slowed down to a crawl in the in the area that had been set up to deal with medical emergencies at the safe house.

“But,” Doctor Grey glanced downwards at the lieutenant’s position on the cot, taking in that he was sitting upright and had pushed his boots close to the bedside, “I distinctly remember _someone_ who was dragged in here with severe injuries being told that he needed bed rest for a couple of days.”

“That…does sound familiar.” He managed to choke out as she fixed him with a pointed look once more.

Bitters had expected a stern warning, a reprimand he could lash out at with all of his brewing negativity at the moment.

Instead, and actually kind of somewhat creepy, the doctor’s face split open with an even wider grin before she let out a sigh.

“Oh, that’s good!  We’re on the same page then!  I was thinking my memory might have been fuzzy because I haven’t been sleeping in who knows how long.  Even _before_ since we set up shop here!”

Okay, for starters, that really wasn’t at all what you wanted to hear from the person who was treating your injuries.  Though it was probably pretty accurate given what Bitters had witnessed.

She would get a few people from time to time to help with mundane tasks around the makeshift clinic of sorts, but Doctor Grey was supervising a lot of really injured people here.  There were impromptu sheets keeping everyone in the area separate due to some of the conditions being quite severe, as well as for added privacy during recuperating periods.  But, he knew well enough that the other five cots nearby were also currently occupied.

“Oh, don’t worry about me!” She let out a laugh at the look he was giving her then, “I tend to stay up wired all the time so I’m pretty good to go!  I was always able to get back to work eager as a beaver with only a couple power naps for a few days at least.”

Well, she _did_ seem pretty energetic.  So, Bitters guessed there were no worries about their only real medical expert on this trip keeling over from exhaustion.  At least just yet.

“However, I would advise a certain _someone_ who was given strict bed rest orders to abide by them.” Doctor Grey continued cheerfully, “Because if they move around too much and those gunshot wounds reopen after they specifically ignored their doctor’s orders, I’ll be less likely to treat them until _just_ after they become horribly infected!”

“Um…” Bitters swallowed nervously.

“Do you know how much puss an infected wound can contain, Lieutenant Bitters?  Or how you drain it?” She asked conversationally, though there was a sharpness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, “How about how much more a wound that has gone septic hurts when it goes untreated?”

The Resistance fighter slightly kicked the boots away from his cot then and settled back down.

“That’s better!  It’s always easier to listen to your doctor’s advice in the long run.” She smiled again, “I know resting isn’t the most ideal given everything, but it will help the healing process a lot.”

“Uh-huh.” He was frowning up at the ceiling, but no matter how upset he was Bitters was definitely not dumb enough to piss Doctor Grey off by arguing with her or challenging her authority.

In a way, despite how cheerful she came across, the rookie got the sense that the doctor could be just as terrifying as Tex was.  He really did not want to test that theory of his though.

Doctor Grey stood there for a long while, assessing him as if to make sure he was going to stay down this time, “You know, it’s really not going to be my fault if your face freezes like that.”

Bitters shot her a look then, and she continued: “You look like you’re about to punch a hole in the world.  Half the time I keep the temporary blockers up just so that you don’t scare my other patients!”

How else _was_ he supposed to look, given everything that happened?  Fuck!  He honestly _did_ feel like punching a hole in the world, now that she mentioned it.

When the Slums resident didn’t respond, she sighed and shrugged.  It seemed that her medical opinion apparently landed on deciding that his outlook was beyond her scope, so it probably wasn’t her concern as long as he still abided by her guidelines for his physical wellbeing.  So instead, Doctor Grey bent down and scooped up his boots.

“I’m going to go take these somewhere out of your reach.  Just in case you decide to try leaving again.” She stated, noticing the look of sudden alarm crossing over his features, “Oh, don’t worry!  I’ll put them in a safe place!” She looked thoughtful momentarily until an idea came to her, “You’re friends with Private Palomo, right?  I’ll tell him to look after them for you.”

He wanted to argue that Palomo would probably try using them to store fireworks or something.  Once when they were kids, his childhood friend had actually done that to some shoes he had grown out of.  Nearly took off his own eyebrows when Palomo decided to see what lighting the suckers up would do, but he still somehow managed to grin afterwards like it was the coolest thing in the world.  Thinking about it though, the best Palomo could do now with his boots would be to just use them for extra ammo storage.

Perhaps Doctor Grey had heard the story before given that Palomo had been visiting him regularly and liked to blab, because she added quickly, “But if I hear you were moving around before I gave you permission to do so again, I’m going to tell him to burn them!”

She grinned at the look of horror on the younger man’s face as he knew for a fact that no matter how cheerful a tone she had, the doctor didn’t joke.

“Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant Bitters?”

“Crystal, Doctor.”

“I’ll stop by later just to make sure your bandages are doing okay.” She smiled and it seemed like the expression was slightly more understanding this time, “Just take it easy.  Try not to dwell on things too much in the meantime.”

He didn’t bother responding as she left.  Instead, he put an arm over his eyes and took in a deep breath.  The lieutenant felt oddly relieved that he hadn’t gotten a severe reprimand from the doctor, but also immensely disappointed that he had been caught before he…

Before he did _what_ , exactly?

The rookie hadn’t really thought that far yet, truthfully.  He had really only been thinking about how laying and sitting around the clinic all the time was driving him nuts.  He was so frustrated that he had wanted to just go somewhere and—he didn’t know, honestly!

Punch a wall maybe?

Bitters wasn’t even sure why he felt as angry or upset as he did.  But, being stuck here injured was just making him stew in those feelings all the more.

Plus, despite how much help getting proper medical treatment had been, he still generally hurt like fuck all over

The pain wracked his body, most specifically his right side and leg where he’d been shot, though in general he was pretty sore all over.  The close explosion’s impact during the fight had landed the Slums resident pretty hard on the ground, and he’d been scraped up pretty badly during the pick up process.

On top of all of that, there was this gnawing sense of guilt that refused to go away no matter how often he tried thinking of _anything_ else.

In general, that was just making him feel even more anger and frustration.

Matthews had almost gotten killed because of him.  All because he’d gotten distracted during the firefight and those assholes had snuck up on them.  They’d shot Bitters first, and then the only thing that had kept them both from getting finished off was some impromptu explosion close by from who-knows-what.

Granted, said explosion took out the Above Ground military that had been closing in on them, but it had also further roughed the shit out of Bitters and nearly knocked out Matthews too.

He hadn’t even had the fucking decency to die following that though, somehow messing up both getting shot _and_ blown up.  Which had subsequently almost gotten Matthews killed _again_ because the stupid suck-up apparently refused to not try dragging a semi-conscious person heavier than himself to safety.  Despite the danger in how open that had left him.

Then to top that off, Captain Grif had…

Bitters gritted his teeth at the recollection, and turned over rather violently on his cot to try to dispel the images running through his head.  The action caused him to remember Doctor Grey’s sing-song voice instructing him to avoid too many sudden movements as a wave of pain suddenly radiated from his right side.  _Of course_ , he would turn around on his injuries.  Because that was just perfect!

Their tubby superior was fat and lazy.  He _wasn’t_ supposed to be heroic, damn it!

Captain Grif wasn’t supposed to make his little sister cry.  He wasn’t supposed to make his friends and teammates sad at anything beyond his poor work ethic.

He wasn’t supposed to make Bitters feel even _guiltier_.

One of the curtains behind him pulled back slightly, but he didn’t bother checking to see who it was.  It was either some random person just waltzing in who would leave soon enough once they realized they were in the wrong place and he was in no mood to talk.  Or it would be Palomo again, tagging along with Caboose and Freckles as they made their rounds.  He was somewhat convinced that Captain Caboose possibly had a crush on Doctor Grey, which was way more nightmare fuel than Bitters could take.

If that was the case, it would be the umpteenth time his childhood friend had stopped by to see how he was doing despite how it had been only about six or eight hours since Bitters had regained full consciousness.  The visits were an obvious sign that Palomo was worried about him.  But, similar to usual, he tried playing his worry off by telling Bitters oddball jokes and theories.

The rest of his teammates and the newer recruits had been by to see him already pretty much immediately after he had gotten there, though they were all pretty distracted and busy currently.  No doubt they were preparing for whatever else was going to happen as they waited for news, so it seemed as if their visits had been a one-time deal.

Not that Bitters minded too much, really.  Right now, he knew he was being pretty lousy company.  Poor Palomo usually wandered off after his visits looking like a kicked puppy.  The lieutenant guessed he’d have to apologize for that, the next time his friend wasn’t being too annoying at any rate.

He supposed the visitor could be Doctor Grey again.  But he really hoped it wasn’t, just on the off-chance that she felt like stealing his socks or underwear would be a good preemptive measure to prevent him from disobeying her orders too.  He honestly wouldn’t put it past her.

“B—Bitters?”

The rookie turned around slightly, surprised to see Matthews staring at him in concern from the opposite end of the cot.

He had only seen Matthews immediately after coming out of whatever anesthesia Doctor Grey had used when she treated his injuries.  The dumbass had actually been holding his hand through it all despite being pretty exhausted and injured himself.  Though he dropped it when Bitters had subconsciously gripped back as he was waking up, and neither of them seemed to want to mention it again.

It wasn’t as if Bitters could blame his teammate for not being comfortable around him, given everything.  He’d nearly gotten him killed, after all.  Besides, Matthews had, for whatever reason, hero-worshipped Captain Grif to boot.  Bitters would have been really pissed off, if he were in his shoes.

Same with how out of all of their other friends Kaikaina didn’t seem to be all that eager on checking up with him either, he supposed.  She probably hated him for being the reason her brother had done what he did in the first place.

“What do you want?”

Matthews was shuffling on his feet nervously, holding something out in front of him.  It looked like a rather huge piece of paper, folded in half.  It was decidedly pink, with purple glitter all over.

Bitters raised an eyebrow, suddenly reminded of the cards his younger siblings would make at their table back home when it was someone’s birthday.  That couldn’t be…

Doctor Grey had stated “bed rest” to him, but she had never ruled out sitting upright on the cot.  Bitters figured so long as he didn’t go anywhere outside his designated “recovery” area, he was good.  So, he began sitting up just because it was way too awkward for him to be laying down and looking up at someone while conversing.  As he did so, the card was quickly shoved into his hands.  Then Matthews immediately and awkwardly stepped back as if to give the slightly older rookie space to read it.

“Captain Donut wanted to do…something to cheer you up, but he says he’s s—sorry that it’s a so low-brow since he didn’t have his usual supplies with him.”

Oh, yeah.  That was right.  Come to think of it Captain Donut usually _did_ make cards for everyone he knew whenever there was some big event.  Bitters honestly wasn’t sure if wanted to know why the light-ish red armored soldier had apparently been carrying around pink paper and glitter on a mission though.  Or why he felt the need to put so many hearts on the damn card either.

Curiously, he opened it and let his eyes wander over the various signatures.

“Everyone signed it.” Matthews further explained.

Strangely enough, they had.

There was one side of the card that seemed dedicated specifically to the various members of Red Team. 

It started off with some indecipherable message from Lopez: he didn’t know if the robot had actually written anything akin to a “Get Well” message in Spanish, or if he was simply requesting mechanical parts given that the rookie couldn’t read the language.

That was accompanied by a cheerful remark from Donut about how sometimes you just have to sit there and take it, but that hopefully everything would work out soon.

Yeah.  Bitters was going to try not to put too much thought behind Donut’s message.  For the sake of his own sanity.

There was a comment from Jensen about how he better get better since he had promised her he would teach her how to drive better.  Bitters was fairly certain she had somehow coaxed that promise out of him when he was only semi-conscious earlier because he sure as fuck didn’t remember saying that!  The younger girl also mentioned that a lot of people would miss him if he didn’t get well soon.

There was a note from Volleyball about how she sure as hell wasn’t ever going to tell him her real name if he got any worse and that Kaikaina wouldn’t forgive him either.

There was even a little note from Sarge about how this whole card thing was pointless, but that if he didn’t say something there “Pretty in Pink” would never leave him alone.  The older soldier felt it best to remind “Dye Job” that corpses were blue, so he better damn well not become one.  Especially not after the shit another good-for-nothing in orange had recently pulled!

Matthews’ message was simply “Get better” written in tiny lettering in the corner, as if he’d been the last one to get the card given how big of lettering everyone else had written in beforehand.

The other side of the card was apparently reserved for Blue Team.

C.T. had written in small lettering a very similar message to Matthews’, with a note on how he shouldn’t get too down on himself if he could avoid it.  As well as that, from her experience, injuries were best recovered from by staying on Doctor Grey’s good side.  Which was something he could definitely agree with.

Captain Tucker said that getting shot sucked major ass, and that he shouldn’t worry or feel too bad about the fat-ass because his friend could be insanely lucky when he needed to be.  Bitters wasn’t entirely sure if that was an actual attempt to cheer him up, or if Tucker had been trying to lighten the mood and cheer himself up given how it seemed like the older man had paused a few times while writing his message.  It was as if he had been debating on how to word it.

Caboose apparently equated getting injured to a vacation, so he hoped that when Bitters came back from his soon he would feel better because it would be even sadder to have to end his break otherwise.  Also, that Freckles would have written a message, but that he was pretty shy.  And had no hands, which made it difficult.

Andersmith had actually _apologized_ for over-reacting on occasion in the past when he’d lashed out at Bitters for his negativity, mentioning how once he was recovered going on patrols together might be a nice change of pace.  Particularly if Bitters did need to talk about anything.

Geez, had the older lieutenant thought he was dying or something?

Andersmith also apparently thought that it had been an inspired idea to make a card like this, and he was glad to know that Red Team had someone as ingenious as Captain Caboose to look out for them in Captain Donut.  Also, that he would be trying to take team spirit-building exercises with the pink-armored soldier in the future, proving once again that Andersmith was perhaps not the best judge of character in general.  Though Bitters supposed he was right about Donut at least making pretty good attempts to maintain team spirit.

Palomo, naturally, spent the entire bottom of the page complaining that he didn’t know what to write and that they really should have a party when it was all said and done.  Oh, and that he had a feeling Captain Grif was going to be fine.  So, if Bitters was going to be mope-y about that he should try to at least not to do it in front of some of the others, especially Kaikaina or Matthews.  Or even Captain Tucker or Sarge because he felt like they would kind of kick his ass given how stressed they were.

Also, Palomo apparently thought that it kind of sucked that Doctor Grey was always kicking him out during his longer visits because he was bored and really wanted to talk more.

Kaikaina had simply written _“You better get better, fuck-face!”_ on the card with a smiley face.  Bitters was taken aback by her remark in particular, having not even expected to see her signing something for him.  Let alone using her usual odd brand of pep-talk given Captain Grif’s current situation.

It was weird thinking that she nor anyone else wasn’t hating him for it as much as he personally was himself.

Bitters swallowed, throat oddly dry all of a sudden.  His eyes felt a bit too itchy and watery.  The rookie stared in disbelief at all of the written messages for him before he managed to pry his eyes away to place the card behind him.

They were all fucking idiots, but he felt oddly grateful.

“…Thanks.  For showing me that.” Bitters muttered to Matthews, who was still awkwardly standing there as if waiting to gauge his teammate’s reaction.

“Oh!” Matthews seemed to snap back into reality then, fidgeting, “You’re…uh, welcome.”

The older lieutenant smirked slightly before talking, “Let me guess.  Last one to sign had to bring it to me?”

His remark caused the yellow-trimmed lieutenant to pause, and he frowned as he asked, “What makes you say that?”

That Matthews seemed to have been actively avoiding him ever since they made it to the safe house, for starters.

Bitters shrugged.  Because he was feeling slightly bitter over a lot of things, reminding him of that name pun Palomo came up with and Bitters couldn’t help but wince inwardly, the rookie responded with, “I just figured you didn’t want to be in the same room alone with me given what had happened.”

Matthews flinched slightly at his tone and, seeing that, Bitters felt kind of bad.

“I didn’t mean to avoid you earlier, but everyone said you needed rest.” The auburn-haired soldier said weakly in way of explanation, “I asked to give you the card.  I-I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” Bitters scoffed, all of his anger still twisting inside him, “Not like Captain Grif.”

Maybe the others didn’t think he was an asshole.  So what?  Didn’t mean he felt the same way, didn’t mean he couldn’t lash out like one.

His friend’s eyes widened behind his glasses at his comment, “You don’t know that!”

It was an emphatic declaration.  A desperate one.  Maybe Matthews had been trying to cling to that sort of flimsy hope to cope with how shitty what happened was.

Bitters wondered if Palomo had known that.  His childhood friend could be incredibly dense sometimes, but on occasion he would actually hit the nail on the head when it came to observation.  Perhaps that was why he’d mentioned that it wouldn’t be a good idea to vent about Captain Grif around Matthews and some of the others.

As it was, Bitters now felt like even more of an asshole as a result.  Still, the floodgates were open.  He was finding it near impossible to stop.

“Oh, please,” Bitters countered sharply, “When was the last time Above Ground took prisoners _alive_ from the Slums?”

Matthews said nothing, looking instead like he was potentially going to cry at any second.

Bitters shook his head, leaning slightly backwards on the cot.  His hand touched the card briefly, but for the moment the “warm fuzzies” it had produced earlier were lost as he voiced out loud all of the things he’d been thinking to himself for awhile.

“You screwed up, Matthews.” He informed his friend quietly, closing his eyes, “You should have just fucking left me to die.”

His teammate actually gasped, “That’s—“

“It was my fault to begin with.  I hadn’t been paying attention to my side.”

He’d only been distracted for maybe a second or two, but it had cost _way too much_.

“You should have just left me.” That last part was barely a whisper as Bitters shuddered, ignoring the pain that rattled through him at the motion, “If you had…”

Matthews would have been able to get away on his own without all of the extra dead weight.  No problem.

Captain Grif wouldn’t have tried playing the hero that he wasn’t supposed to be.

No one would be writing him get well messages in cards and making him feel both touched and even more miserable all at the same time.

“You’d be dead.”

Bitters opened his eyes then and glanced over at the other young man just to make sure he’d actually heard him.  The other rookie had spoken very softly then, to the point where it could have just been his imagination playing tricks on him.

But Matthews, surprisingly, was staring straight at him.  His face wasn’t even flushed in embarrassment like it usually was whenever he thought he said something that was rather awkward.  Instead, the auburn-haired soldier looked oddly determined, as if that point was what he wanted Bitters to focus on above all else.

“If I’d just left, you’d be dead now.” Matthews repeated only slightly louder this time, but it was more discernible to Bitters’ ears now, especially as he saw the other lieutenant’s mouth forming the words too, “I didn’t want that to happen either, Bitters.”

Matthews stepped closer to the cot as he was speaking, until he was standing right in front of Bitters.  It was as if maybe making direct eye contact was the only way he could think of to really try to hit his point home.  The only way Matthews could get his way too stubborn teammate to see where he had been coming from after he had vented his turn.

Bitters felt the card once more as flexed his hand slightly.

His mind drew a blank on any kind of retort, suddenly feeling as if he had only stunned silence in his brain.  Bitters had been so caught up in his own shit after everything that he’d only just partially ever considered why everyone else responded as they had.  That lack of insight on his part suddenly getting thrown in his face was more than just a tad jarring.

After a few seconds, Matthews seemed to suddenly recall what he was doing.  Just like that, his face took on a tomato hue that gave the time he almost choked on his drink after Kaikaina had made her declaration in regards to the “bet” a run for its money.  His hands went up in the air, fingers poised to do that awkward ringing motion he tended to do when he felt too stressed.  It was pretty obvious Matthews was about a split-second from backtracking it away from the cot and his injured teammate.

Bitters grabbed at Matthews’ right hand just then, not really caring so much about the pain as he did about the sudden urge he had to make sure his friend didn’t leave just yet.  He ended up accidentally pulling Matthews’ down on top of him due to the other lieutenant’s awkward footing position.

It was an assorted, messy jumble of limbs that actually _hurt like fuck_ until Matthews somehow managed to disentangle himself.

Matthews surprised him by not hightailing it out of there just then given how much Bitters had just overreacted to him almost leaving.  Instead, face still a very deep shade of red and looking anywhere else _but_ at Bitters, the auburn-haired solider laid down next to him on the cot.

Bitters said nothing, though he drew a sharp intake of breath as he stared at the top of Matthews’ head.  Inwardly, he was rather surprised over his own actions and found himself wondering just what Matthews’ staying meant.

This was fine for now, right?  Just staying together like this?

It was a mid-step.  One that Bitters needed to accept right now just to be sure that Matthews wouldn’t completely freak out on him later on down the road.

…Because Bitters was fairly certain that he just had the realization that all he really wanted to do just then was push his teammate onto the cot, just kissing him until neither of them were talking or thinking about anything else anymore.

Instead, he simply laced his fingers around Matthews’ own.  Their joined knuckles hit the surprisingly thoughtful gesture of well wishes to Bitters that their friends had given him.

He didn’t bother looking to gauge the other man’s reaction.  As long as Matthews didn’t leave, he reasoned, it was more than enough for now.  Instead, Bitters simply stared straight ahead at nothing in particular.

From somewhere far away, he could swear he almost heard Doctor Grey exclaiming at someone about why they would decide to punch a wall.  Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t “punched a hole in the world” like she mentioned, even if he still felt like he wanted to do so.  At least a little bit.

Still, he knew it would be pointless and that it wouldn’t change things.  That it wouldn’t bring Captain Grif back.

If Matthews wanted to remark on how his grip tightened slightly as if needing assurance on something, or on the redness that was maybe starting to form in Bitters’ eyes, he decided not to.

They simply leaned into one another’s shoulders silently.

*****

The identical looking door to all the others in the corridor that Delta led them through opened up to a surprisingly large room.  The walls were lined with even more computer terminals, along with a whole assortment of other machines whose purposes Simmons could only guess upon based on their appearances.

On any other day, he would have loved to have explored every single facet of this place.  The cyborg imagined one could spend their entire lifetime doing just that and still only see half of what existed in this facility.

It was scary as fuck to think that this probably wasn’t even the only storage place the Director had used.  You had to wonder about a guy who was that dedicated and driven.  Not to mention _that_ secretive.

Granted, what little Simmons knew about the man in general was more than just a bit disconcerting already.

So, yes, any other day probably and Simmons would have had a much more positive outlook on finding himself surrounded by all of this magnificent technology.

But, given all of the recent events, the redhead was too burned out in general for much of anything.  He let out a tired sigh, running his hands over his maroon helmet, getting frustrated at not being able to reach his face.  It is definitely a sign that one’s brain wasn’t fully functional anymore when they forget that they’re wearing full body armor from head to toe.

His head felt like it was about to burst as his cybernetic eye had been going into overload ever since they had entered the facility.  The lower level they were on now was even more taxing on it, given that this was clearly where most of the power was being diverted to.

He felt a hand worriedly placed on his shoulder, “Hey.  Are you okay?” Doc asked, sounding a little unsure.

It was a silly question that the medic more than likely already knew the answer to, all things considered.  They had been thrown into so many things all at once and, oh God, Church was actually an A.I.!  How did one really even _begin_ processing something like that?

But, the Above Grounder knew that his friend was more than likely asking out of concern and because he probably needed some assurance himself too.

“Totally.” Simmons hoped his voice didn’t get too wobbly, that it reflected the slight smile he’d managed to muster onto his face.  If he could sometimes fake being happy to his mother when she needed to see it, he could hopefully do so now for his friends.

“Who would have thought things would have gone this way, huh?”

Doc’s question was directed not only to Simmons, but also to Sheila when she wandered listlessly over to join the two of them once she’d entered the room.

The gun-metal green robot was staring at everything around them, obvious unease in her body language, “It is…surprising.  To be sure.”

She’d had more than her fair share of shocking revelations during this mission too, after all.

“Sheila—“ Simmons began, though he really wasn’t sure what to say.  He had a very strong sense that whatever he came up with would be rather inadequate, and he hated himself for not being more helpful to his friends when they needed it.

Before the cyborg could most likely embarrass himself though, he was cut off by Carolina’s warning: “Stay alert.”

The Freelancer was standing further inside the room, away from the three of them.  When he thought about it, she had been through a lot herself recently.  There was even still that red liquid on her from when Church was shot.  Was it actual blood?  Whatever it was, it was covering her armor in splotches.  It was weird to think how that had turned out to be the least of her concerns.

But, despite whatever unease she was no doubt perhaps feeling on the inside, Carolina seemed to have adjusted to focusing on the task at hand pretty quickly.  Simmons supposed the rest of them should at least be attempting to do the same.

Delta was hovering over her shoulder, fixated on a particular wall terminal that they were standing in front of.

The redheaded Freelancer tilted her head slightly towards his direction, “You’re up, Delta.”

He nodded, approaching the computer, “It will only take a few minutes.” He informed her, before suddenly disappearing into the terminal itself.

There was an odd shimmer around the place he had just gone through, spreading out like a ripple in a pond.  Simmons blinked, and it dissipated.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll have.” The cyan-armored Freelancer muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

“So if Church is doing…whatever he is to help Epsilon, what are we doing exactly?” Simmons asked her, surprising himself by how calmly he managed to mask the anxiety in his voice.

Carolina was glancing at a terminal overhead.  It seemed to show a camera feed, alternating between different portions of the building, “Delta is looking for confirmation about why exactly the Council are interested in you and Sheila.”

He blinked, “But how can he—“

She waved a dismissive hand through the air, neatly cutting him off, “The Director came up with the cybernetic enhancement program, so his notes on it are most likely stored here.” She glanced at all three of them quizzically, “Clearly you’ve guessed Sheila’s connection to everything given our earlier talk?”

Sheila entered the conversation then, “I am most likely an off-shoot of F.I.L.S.S..  A portion of her that was no longer considered necessary for her main functions.”

“So, why was she with Church then?” Doc asked, perplexed at the mystery.

Carolina sighed, “Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure about that myself.” She shrugged, “Clearly, the Director wasn’t one to share his decisions.”

There was a very large undercurrent of bitterness in her voice then, along with something else that Simmons couldn’t quite place.  But, the Freelancer continued speaking before Simmons had the chance to figure out anything more about her tone just then.

“Perhaps it was security, given that she was initially in a tank.” She theorized, “At any rate, we can speculate more on that later.  Be ready to move when I say so.”

She turned sharply, the discussion apparently over.  Considering how all of them had probably had more than enough of this facility for now, she probably hadn’t even needed to say her last order out loud for it to have been carried.

Not that it was ever a good idea to _not listen_ to a direct order from Agent Carolina, mind you.

There was that odd shimmer again in the terminal.  Simmons only saw it through a red-tinted haze, so he knew it had something to do with his cybernetic vision.  Delta suddenly reemerged a second later.

Both Simmons and Doc started, honestly shocked it took such a small amount of time for the A.I. to accomplish his goal despite Delta’s earlier comment on how he would need only a few moments.  The nerdy part of Simmons briefly wondered how quickly could the A.I. Fragment could process data and interpret it.

Carolina didn’t seem too shocked at all by the green figure’s presence, “Did you find anything?”

Delta nodded, “Affirmative.  There is sufficient information on the uses of the cybernetic enhancements, as well as on potential android bodies for Virtual Intelligences.  I will transfer it now.”

He turned to glance back at both Sheila and Simmons where they stood tentatively a few steps behind.  If it were possible, the A.I. looked decidedly sheepish compared to his usually calm demeanor as he explained, “There are two secondary programs that are of keen interest.  The first is the scramble wave for electronics, and the second is for surveillance.”

Okay.  Neither of those sounded exactly good, especially consider they were to be attached to people in particular.

Simmons focused on the former first, “…S—surveillance?”

The green A.I. Fragment nodded, “Sheila’s routine maintenance involved going through her memory banks regularly.  Standard procedure.”

Carolina seemed to understand what he was implying beneath that phrasing though, “But, they were also hoping to find any withheld information about Project Freelancer that she might have witnessed.”

“It seems highly likely.” Delta paused, glancing over at Simmons specifically this time, “A similar surveillance system was put inside Private Simmons as well.  It was not labeled in the specifications for the program as it had been described to the volunteers, and it was made to be undetectable by the soldiers afterwards.”

Okay, Simmons wasn’t quite sure he had heard that right: “C—come again?”

Carolina didn’t beat around the bush, “It means that there’s an implant inside you that is collecting information for the Council to retrieve later.  They most likely received the data whenever you went in for your maintenance.”

“But that’s—“ Simmons paused then, stopping himself short.

What had he exactly been about to say?  How crazy that was?  How untrue it sounded?

 _None_ of this made any sense.  Not what happened to Sheila or to Church or to Carolina.  Given all of that, why would he put it past the Council to use him in some way too?

The truth was, he wasn’t a top soldier.  He was a nobody.  That made it all the more easier for him to be used as well.  Not only was he a glorified reject given the “proposed” outcomes for the project, but he was also an unsuspecting lab rat for some other aspect of it all the same.

Who even knew how long the damn thing had been active?  What it had recorded?

It wouldn’t have seen just random snippets of data.  There would have been private moments too.

The thought made Simmons suddenly wanted to vomit.

Delta was still talking, “While the surveillance program in Sheila is set up through her eyes, the device housing the one in Private Simmons is located in his chest cavity.”

The cyborg swallowed, looking between Carolina and Delta frantically, “Cut it out then.”

The Freelancer paused, probably looking at him in bewilderment from behind her visor, “What?”

“If you know where it is, then it should be easy right?” He was trying to keep his voice from getting too high-pitched while also trying to keep down what little bit of food he’d had before the mission, “Get it out.”

“Whoa!  Maybe…maybe you should think about that for a minute, Simmons.” Doc tried saying in a placating manner, “If it has to be removed, shouldn’t it be done in a sterile environment?”

Simmons ignored the fact that, as a medic, Doc really should already know the answer to that question.

“There’s no rush, Private Simmons.” Carolina added, “Whatever they have already retrieved they’ve gotten, but they need both you and Sheila to go in for maintenance to get any new information.  There is more than enough time to figure out how to deactivate the systems before then.”

Simmons frowned, “But…”

He still didn’t like it.  He wanted the damn thing out as soon as possible.  It made him feel sick even knowing that it had most likely recorded all of this too.

Did he have anything vital nearby where it was that would make removing it difficult? Would it hurt?  Simmons still vividly remembered how much agony the surgery had been, but his chest was mostly metal and wiring now.  Maybe he wouldn’t even need anesthesia.

Wouldn’t it be better to just get it out and over with in case something happened?

“Jesus!  The first thing you guys do whenever I’m gone is talk about cutting things open.  No wonder I have to hide all the goddamned knives.”

The group all started at the voice coming up from behind them.

“Church?” Carolina asked, surprised to see that the miniature form of her cousin floating there now appeared to be an odd mix of blue and white.

“You do know one of us can disable that manually, right?” He asked, ignoring them all for a moment to address Delta.  Apparently he’d at least overheard part of the conversation.

“I was about to suggest that myself.” With a slight incline of his head, the green A.I. Fragment moved towards Sheila, “Pardon me, Sheila.”

“It’s fine.” She nodded slightly, giving her consent to whatever it was he was preparing to do.

Delta suddenly vanished once more, this time inside the robot’s body.

“Heh, that’s nothing!  Watch this!” Church turned towards Simmons and before the maroon soldier could even blink he did the exact same thing—disappearing into his chest cavity.

Yeah, Simmons actually yanked off his helmet then and vomited because it was all _too much_ by that point.

“Ew, gross!” Church suddenly reappeared following Simmons’ retching.

The cyborg could almost picture his teammate making his customary grimace of disgust when something he witnessed really grossed him out.

“S-sorry.” Simmons rubbed at the corners of his mouth, not really having had too much of a fun time there either.  Shakily he put his helmet back on, making sure it properly sealed.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m transparent at least.” The A.I. muttered, though seconds later he was rubbing his hands together as if he remembered something he had every right to be smug about just as Delta reappeared as well, “Done and done!”

“That was…it?” Simmons wasn’t sure whether he should just be thankful or disbelieving.

Church shrugged, putting his hands in the air and shooting a look at Delta, “What can I say?  We’re just _that_ fucking awesome.”

“Thank you, Church.  And Delta.” Sheila nodded her head towards both of them.

“Yeah, thank you.”

It was actually moderately odd for Simmons to be thanking Church in any capacity without some kind of sarcasm attached to it given their usual discussions, but this time it was definitely fitting.  Even if it would take some time before the panic he’d felt just to pass.

After all, the cyborg hadn’t even really processed the whole “scramble wave” thing that Delta had mentioned earlier yet either.

“It was pretty damn easy, so you’re welcome.”

Given his smug tone at the moment, Church certainly seemed to be in a slightly better mood than he had been before.

Carolina had been silently watching the two A.I.s deactivate the devices, her eyes fixed onto Church in particular, “Epsilon, is he…?” she stopped, paused, and tried again, “Are you…?”

“Um, yeah.  About that.” Church rubbed the back of his helmet awkwardly, whatever pleasantness he’d been feeling before vanishing under the weight of her regard,  “We maybe, sort-of, kind-of merged.  Or something?”

Their “leader” nearly withered under the incredulous stare she was sending his way, “I don’t know!  Fuck it!  This is still way too confusing for me.”

It seemed as if the Freelancer was debating possibly arguing that point further, but decided against it for the time being, “What does that mean for _now_?”

Church shrugged, “Can’t really say for sure, but we’ve got a whole shitload of information to sort through.” He flickered slightly until he was hovering close by her shoulder, “Old files of the Director even he thought he’d locked away, as well as some new intel thanks to Delta.” His voice was somber as he added, “ _Lots_ of things to discuss.”

Before anyone could respond to that rather cryptic remark, there were gunshots coming from the hallway.

Washington quickly ran through the door, an odd-looking container in one hand and his gun drawn in the other.

“They’re making their way past the defenses!” The blonde shouted.

“Yeah, no shit.” Church snorted, “What was your first clue, genius?”

Even with his helmet on, Washington appeared to be about ready to strangle Church for his remark.  Which, honestly?  In any other situation, would have probably been rather funny considering Church’s current size and the fact that he was intangible.  But, Carolina moved between the two of them, her weapons already drawn.

“F.I.L.S.S.?” She called out.

“Yes, Agent Carolina?”

“I think it’s about time we said goodbye to this place.” She glanced over at Washington, Sheila, and Church as she spoke in particular, “For good.”

“…I understand.” The computer’s voice was oddly quiet.

There was a loud thrumming noise as a door that Simmons was pretty sure hadn’t been there before suddenly slid open.  It had been camouflaged using the active computer terminals, which was actually pretty clever.  Even with how oddly sensitive his cybernetic eye could be at times, he hadn’t noticed it because of the power flowing throughout the rest of the space.

“This door will take you outside.  Please exit immediately.”

“Wait, what about you?” Doc asked, alarmed.

“Thank you for your concern, but I will be fine.” The Virtual Intelligence assured him, “I have a backup elsewhere.”

“Well, that’s great and all but…will you remember any of this?” Doc’s voice took on a sad tone, which Simmons knew was due to the fact that his friend didn’t really like encounters only having one side to them.

“Unfortunately not.” F.I.L.S.S. actually sounded genuinely remorseful when she answered.

Sheila touched Doc’s shoulder consolingly when he slumped slightly, and Carolina called over her shoulder: “Get going now!”

Still, as the Freelancer made her way to the newly opened tunnel exit she paused slightly but didn’t look back.

“I’m sorry, F.I.L.S.S..” Carolina said, right before she followed Washington through the exit.

“Goodbye, Agent Carolina, Agent Washington.  Take care, Director.”

With that, F.I.L.S.S. fell silent as the entire facility started to shake violently.  Simmons thought it was reminiscent in a way of the tunnel collapses the Resistance had more than likely been training for underground.

 Sheila was the last person to reach the threshold while Simmons, Doc, and Church held back slightly near the door in case there was an issue.

“It was very nice meeting you again, Sheila.”

The robot stopped short.  F.I.L.S.S.’ voice sounded very small just then, to the point where it was likely that only the four of them had even heard it.

“…You too, F.I.L.S.S..”

Sheila shared a look with Church, who nodded his head back in some wordless exchange before they were all running through the tunnel to catch up to their Freelancer comrades.  The ground had already started caving in mere footsteps behind them.

*****

The cave-in had been a surprise, though from what Carolina said that was only the tip of the iceberg.  The self-destruct sequence for buildings like this often involved collapsing everything in on top of itself, and then detonating it all underground to make sure that things were lost for good.

Still, it was probably for the best given just how much tech that facility had housed.  Whatever had been in there could have potentially gotten in the hands of the wrong people if the facility had continued to been left unchecked as it had been.

Things like the robotic body they stumbled upon in the oddly warm wreckage later, for example.  It had been thrown out of its container, but still remained rather intact.

“Sweet!  It looks exactly like my old one!” Church grinned.

He was almost starting to get used to having a pint-sized digital body of sorts, but he preferred the other still all the same.  At the very least, it would make covering up what happened to Above Ground easier.

Simmons stared at the robotic body thoughtfully.  It was pretty much identical to Church’s previous one, right down to the goatee.

“Why…did they decide to make these so lifelike?” The cyborg asked out loud to no one in particular, “Couldn’t they have just made his body be like Sheila’s?  Just have Church stay inside the armor all the time?”

“Oh, who the fuck cares?” Church scoffed, “You’re just jealous because I’m better looking than you are!”

Washington ignored him and focused on Simmons’ questions instead, “I suppose that was done in order to make him pass as an actual human.”

“I’m just glad I won’t be having to hop a ride with one of you losers back.” The A.I. sniffed indifferently, “No offense.”

“No worries, Church!  We debated that very thing awhile ago!” Doc stated cheerfully, “We were trying to figure out who would have to store you through Rock-Paper-Scissors.  The loser nine times out of ten would be it!”

“…Oh, you guys suck!”

Sheila glanced over at the storage unit that Washington was carrying, “That is…Theta, correct?”

The blonde looked down at the unit, nodding slightly, “He helped us out a lot back there, so I figured we owed him.” He regarded Carolina for a second to see if she would argue, but instead she simply gave him a slight nod in agreement, “Besides, hopefully we can reunite him with someone soon.”

After he had said that, the Freelancer let out a sigh as if  Sheila’s mentioning of the Fragment had apparently helped him to remember something else, “Right now Theta has to recuperate in his unit due to how much energy he used up, but…it’s going to be pretty problematic constantly lugging this thing around.  We’ll need someone to carry him in their armor’s storage temporarily.”

“Yeah, good luck with that considering how helpful they wanted to be with me.” Church muttered behind them.

The blue and white A.I. was frowning down at the robot body, remembering how easy entering into things had been before and…

Suddenly he was looking through the world in the same way he always had been before he was shot.  Well, how a part of him had always seen it, anyways.

Church was grinning with a definite “Missed me, bitches?” just on the tip of his tongue, only to realize that no one in their group seemed to be paying him much attention.

“Well, considering that we’re both purple, I wouldn’t mind volunteering!” Doc was saying to Washington cheerfully, “Or, if the others would like, we could try playing Rock-Paper-Scissors again.  Winner nine times out of ten would be it!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Church groaned, “Really?”

These were his teammates.  Unappreciative idiots all around.  Though it made him wonder why, despite knowing that, he was smiling.

“So, how did this robot body end up being the only thing to miraculously survive?  Did F.I.L.S.S. do it?” Simmons, finally, decided to direct the questions back closer to home

After all the stuff the cyborg also went through today, and all the stuff his teammate was no doubt trying really hard _not_ to think of at the moment until they were somewhere he could properly mull it all over?  Well, Church figured it was probably only fair that the nerd deserved to have a little more focus in the conversation too.

Church saw Sheila stiffen slightly at the mention of the V.I. and he frowned, “I guess it’s possible.”

True, F.I.L.S.S. had referred to him as the Director before.  For reasons he was just beginning to understand, but didn’t really like the implications of.

Perhaps a part of her had known that her identification of him wasn’t entirely true given their conversations and the direction events at the facility had gone in.  Perhaps she had just been missing someone, and he happened to be the closest facsimile she had gotten in a long time.

Eerily enough, he could almost understand that in a way.

But, as miraculous as the robotic body surviving had been, it was hardly one of their biggest concerns.  They all knew that, and Carolina was pretty quick to put all of them on the same page again once they’d had a few minutes to catch their breaths.

“We have _a lot_ to discuss.” She stated, casting her gaze on everyone but staying on Church the longest.

Her look caused him to “Tch!” and turn his head slightly to the side.  It figured she’d practically paraphrase Church’s own words against him.  Especially when he really wasn’t sure how much he wanted to actually discuss right now and in front of whom.

“I’ll say.”

None of them had been expecting to hear Wyoming’s voice coming from behind them.  The startled group turned to face him, Carolina and Washington both aiming their weapons.

Truth be told, instead of looking like someone who had just clawed himself out of an underground inferno, the mercenary Freelancer looked rather clean and blindingly white in the sun.

It took Church a second to remember that the fucker’s special armor ability happened to be temporal distortion.  It would make plenty of sense that if he had felt there was a chance anything could go wrong, Wyoming would have already had a backup plan in motion.

“That was hardly sportsman-like behavior, chaps.”

Oddly enough, the Freelancer had his hands up in the air as if to showcase that he wasn’t interested in fighting just yet.

“Says the asshole who just loves sneaking up on people?” Church countered back.

“I suppose that’s fair.” Wyoming shrugged indifferently, “I think I’m just a tad bit more polite about it though.”

“Where’s South?” Washington asked his former teammate, voice hard as he glanced around for the violet-armored Freelancer, “I think we’d prefer not getting someone else shot today.”

The Freelancer amusingly glanced towards Church at that remark, “I think it’s safe to say that worked out rather swimmingly for you all in the long run.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Wyoming…!” The younger Freelancer had a warning tone in his voice.

“She was still more or less out of it thanks to that impressive punch Agent Carolina dealt her.” The older man explained as he nodded to himself, “I thought it prudent to move her before attempting to break through the security gates.  Just in case.  A smart gamble, as it turns out.”

“Can’t say I’m thrilled either way.” Carolina’s voice was menacing.  Apparently she had not forgotten any of the things South Dakota had done earlier.

“No, I imagine you wouldn’t be.” The mercenary sighed, “Though I’m not here to fight.  Just wanted to inform you that we’ll both be keeping our mouths shut on this for at least a little while.  I’ll make sure of it.”

Washington and Carolina glanced at one another cautiously before the steel and yellow-trimmed armored Freelancer looked over at their former teammate skeptically, “Why is that, exactly?”

Wyoming snorted, “Because I’m not stupid.  I know this whole episode could ruin my later pay negotiations with Hargrove down the line.” He glanced past them over to Church again, tilting his helmet slightly towards him, “Your little A.I. friend over there supplied me with information I’d been trying to find earlier, so I’m more than willing to call this whole thing even.”

Carolina twisted around to face her “cousin” so fast that Church actually jumped up from where his newly acquired body had been sitting on the ground to take a cautious step back.  He had just gotten this body, damn it!  He didn’t want to lose it just yet!

“Church!  What the hell is he talking about?”

“I figured we could use some leverage to get him, _them_ , off our backs for a little while.” He explained quickly, “It’s about Florida…Captain Flowers.”

Church heard the collective gasps coming from Doc and Simmons at the name.  He saw the curious slight tilting of Sheila’s head.  He found himself sighing.  Truthfully, it had been another one of those things he’d learned that he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to share just yet.  Church was really starting to understand _why_ he had wanted to stay in the dark before.

“Like you said, Carolina, there is _lots_ to talk about.”

Wyoming harrumphed, “Best get to it then.  Preferably away from here.  This place is going to draw attention.”

With that, Wyoming turned and left, disappearing into the forested area beyond their line of sight that had helped to further shield the facility from prying eyes.

The moment he was gone, Carolina was stomping forward towards Church.  Barely controlled anger was present in each of her steps.

“I know how you feel, Carolina.” Surprisingly it was Washington who came to his aid just then, stepping in between the two, “But if it was information that won’t hurt us to have Wyoming know, and that will at least keep him distracted for the moment, Church probably made the right call.”

“ _Probably_?  Wow.  That must have really hurt to say.” Church rolled his eyes.

“Be grateful I am trying to keep her from beating you senseless.” The blonde snapped back.  It was pretty evident in Washington’s tone that he too was more than just a little annoyed at what Church had done behind their backs.

Carolina sighed, shoulders sagging slightly, “Tell me we at least still have that information you mentioned before.”

“Oh, we do!” Church stated eagerly, not really wanting to stay on her bad side any longer than necessary and knowing there was at least good news to counter his earlier tactic involving the British mercenary, “I just…need to power through the list to get to likely testing locations.” He turned to Delta then, “I don’t think it should be too difficult if both of us are working on it.”

Delta, who had been silent throughout the earlier exchanges, nodded, “It should significantly cut down on time.”

Washington shook his head, sighing.  His entire body just seemed drained now.  Church had more than just a sneaking suspicion he actually understood the reason for why that was now too.

“I hope things on the Resistance side went smoothly.” The Freelancer muttered, “We haven’t heard from them since this began.”

Oh, shit!  Of course someone would _have_ to go and mention _that_.

He glanced over at Delta, who remained silent.  Apparently the A.I. Fragment figured out that, when it came to delivering bad news, it was more logical to have someone else do it.

Particularly when dealing with what was most likely going to result in at least one extremely upset person.

“Yeah, about that…” Church hesitated, before deciding to just screw it and get the damn thing over with, “Delta and I caught some info about the Resistance when we briefly checked some communication reports.  This place may have been hidden from the outside world, but clearly the asshole Director was keen on keeping tabs on all the shit currently going on in Above Ground while he had been out here.”

That caught everyone’s attention.  Church figured he might as well go all the way now.  Besides, he was going to have to tell them this information at some point anyways.  Might as well do it now and get it over with, like pulling off a band-aid.

“Looks like things went as well as could be expected under the circumstances, but…the mercenaries decided to go against regulations.  They kept someone they caught alive.”

“…A prisoner?” Doc was perplexed, “Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing, but the policies on Slums residents who break topside is…”

“Death.” Carolina finished for him when the medic became uncomfortable with the idea of closing his sentence, “Which would probably be a lot kinder in this case.”

“…Wh—what makes you say that?” Simmons asked nervously.

Washington sighed, “I’ve looked into the mercenaries Hargrove has hired.  Frankly, they make the military’s penalizing of Slums residents seem downright tame in comparison.  If they’re keeping someone alive for potential information gathering, or for whatever other reason they may have, I can’t imagine that person will want to be for too long.”

“Shit.”

It was easy enough to imagine that Simmons’ face was ashen at the prospect beneath his helmet, and Doc seemed to in no better shape.  He was a medic, after all.

Church actually felt pretty bad that he still had more to tell them, “It gets worse.”

“Worse?” Carolina was regarding him disbelievingly, “How could anything be worse than a possible information leak about where the Resistance fighters might be hiding while _we_ still have to process the information we just received?”

“We…actually know the guy.” Church frowned, really wishing this new body had come with a spare helmet lying around somewhere too just so that he could hide behind it, “Some of us more than others.”

Oddly enough, everyone in the group beyond Delta, who already knew the situation’s information, stiffened.  Church realized that trying to soften the blow by being abstract was probably a pretty fucking bad idea.  _All of them_ arguably had a strong bond with a Resistance member.

He sighed, figuring it would be better to just rip the band-aid off completely then.

“It’s Grif, Simmons.”

As could be expected, that was when all hell broke loose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** I am so, so sorry for how long this chapter took to get posted, especially since I was pretty confident it would come out earlier than the last one! Real life has not been too accommodating to either myself or my beta.
> 
> But, because of that, I spent a bit more time on the chapter and it ended up being twice as long as most of mine are. So, I hope in a small way that makes up for it being late. Even if real life continues to make my schedule way too hectic, I plan on finishing this story no matter how long it takes. I promise that!
> 
> Anyways, onto the chapter talk itself, yes? Ended up focusing more on the “immediate aftermath” of one of the cliffhangers from last time, as I’d kind of been hinting at that one for a long while so I felt it needed a bit more emphasis in this chapter. As was emphasized at the end, there is a lot left to discuss by everyone involved still on the matter so hopefully things will get further explained and resolved (and will make sense) soon!
> 
> Next chapter should have a bit more balance between the cast again and, yes, there is going to pairing focus again _beyond_ just Bitthews starting from here on out too! In particular, the Grimmons will be back in full force very, very soon and I will be quite happy to get back to writing it and all of the other pairing/character interactions as well! ♥
> 
> Again though, sorry that this chapter took so long to come out. I hope it wasn’t too long and confusing! Thank you for reading and for putting up with this fic for as long as you have!
> 
> On another note: I am still deeply shocked and saddened by Monty Oum’s passing. He was an incredibly driven and creative person, and he shall be missed. My thoughts are with his friends and family.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-One:

Richard “Dick” Simmons sat on the couch in the “safe house” that Carolina had apparently had, body completely tense.

Seriously, who actually kept a safe house as just a _regular precaution_?

It was, oddly enough, a rather pleasant space now that he was in a more coherent frame of mind.  It was an _actual_ house, located close to the spacious housing for higher-up military sorts and other government officials.

It was actually near where his family’s home was, now that he thought about it.  Given the proximity, it was no wonder she had just “shown up” there out of the blue so long ago.

Apparently, in her spare time, the leader of the Freelancers had put in quite a bit of work to maintain the illusion that someone actually lived at this location on a regular basis.  Which was probably necessary in order to avoid the prying eyes of either snooping neighbors too curious for their own good or suspicious government agents.

The garden outside was even well-maintained, most likely by a professional gardener since he couldn’t really picture Carolina actually having much time for that sort of thing.  On the inside, everything was in tip-top working order.

The furniture was an odd, eclectic set of things that didn’t really match too well or give the space any coherent theme.  It reminded him of how someone might have described his mother’s sense of décor as being extremely “antique” or “classical” just to save time and fancy up the fact that she liked a lot of older pieces and designs.

Still, the pieces in Carolina’s safe house were also well-cared for and just helped to give the space a sense that someone most likely _lived_ there.  Fuck, she had even put up pictures and art pieces everywhere too.

He was fairly certain the smiling faces in the frames were most likely stock photos she’d found online.  Apparently Agent Washington had done a double-take upon seeing a poster of a cat on the kitchen wall earlier with a _“I thought someone had thrown that out!”_ comment, but the pictures would have sent most curious eyes on their way without giving them a second glance.

Though _all_ of that decor really only served as cover for the apparent armory and caches of weapons and other useful tech that the Freelancer had hidden in every single room of the house.

There was even a hallowed out storage container of weaponry inside the very couch Simmons was precariously sitting on now.  Knowing that, even without being told about it explicitly thanks to his cybernetic eye picking up on the “glow” from the active security lock underneath the cushions, certainly wasn’t helping his nerves any.

One of the least likely things to help matters at the moment would be if a grenade happened to accidently go off while the cyborg was sitting on top of it, no matter how unlikely that was probably to happen given how secure Carolina seemed to have everything.

It all further proved the number of _years_ people like Carolina and Washington had been planning for things like this.  All while people like him did nothing except monkey about and be useless to pretty much everyone and everything.

Thinking about it like that wasn’t really helping Simmons too much either.  He took in a shaking breath, feeling a spike in his nerves again and really hoping to avoid another panic attack currently.

Then again, he was pretty fucking doubtful that most things would help him at the moment.

There was a shuffling of feet by the entryway into the living room from the kitchen.  The Above Grounder glanced up to see two of his teammates nervously poking their heads through the doorway.  Both Sheila and Doc seemed somewhat hesitant to approach him.

Not that Simmons could necessarily blame them at the moment.

After all, he’d been a pretty irrational, panic-stricken mess just hours before.  Even now, he could almost feel the build-up of nerves and fears inside of him threatening to spill out all over again.

He wouldn’t want to deal with that either, if their roles had been reversed.

At the moment, everything fucking _sucked_ : his whole situation, all the shit they had apparently all been unknowingly connected to for _years_ , Grif…

A shudder ran through his body, and Simmons forced himself to smile weakly to alleviate some of the concerns of his friends.  He had done it countless times growing up to reassure his mother after particularly stressful events, so it almost felt like second-nature now.

“S—sorry.  You can come in, if you’d like.”

It was probably a really big dick move for him to have taken the entire living room for himself anyways.  He should have instead found a more convenient room with a fucking lock until he felt he was good and ready to leave, like a bed or bathroom.

Of course, that train of thought made him think suddenly of _that_ one night at Grif’s apartment.  _Fuck it!_   It was like Simmons was doing this on purpose to mess with his own brain.

Honestly, the redhead had been in so much of a haze when they came to the safe house that he pretty much had had no idea where he had collapsed at first.  Back then, he just knew that he really needed to sit somewhere and recollect himself for a few minutes.  Which, of course, had ended up probably being more like hours when it was all said and done.  Simmons hadn’t been paying too much attention to the time either.

“Are you sure?” Doc took a step in carefully, as if approaching an animal that could potentially respond with a fight or flight reflex, “We don’t want to intrude.”

“We simply wished to see how you were feeling, Private Simmons.” Sheila spoke up from behind him.

The medic nodded his head in earnest agreement, brown eyes filled with concern, “Are you feeling any better?”

It was beyond kind for the two of them to not directly mention the panic attack he’d had before.  Simmons felt a slight tearing up in his organic eye at the notion that they understood him well enough to know that he was still probably trying to process things, and that he would get even more out of sorts and embarrassed if that was brought up.

The cyborg nodded his head shakily in response to Doc’s question, not quite ready to vocalize too much.  But, given the circumstances, he knew he was probably feeling as okay as he would be.

That gesture was all of the confirmation the two needed to settle into the living room with him.  Doc sat on the opposite end of the neutral, nonmatching beige couch Simmons was currently on.  Sheila chose to sit down on the adjoining loveseat of a shockingly purple color that was a louder shade than Doc’s armor.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room.

After a few moments and another shaky breath into his nonexistent lungs, Simmons finally managed to squeak out a shaky, “S—sorry.”

He wasn’t even sure _what_ he was apologizing for, really.

The apology could have been for the massive information dump they’d just been let in on about their current situation.  Or it could have been about how so much of their past as a team had been manipulated by things like Freelancer and the Council’s machinations.

Maybe Simmons was just sorry about how he’d lost it at the end of the last mission for very personal reasons, or how he’d made them all worry as a result?

It was probably for all of those things and more, given how pathetic the cyborg could be.

Surprisingly, Doc shook his head rather emphatically no sooner than the word had left his teammate’s mouth, “There’s nothing to apologize for, Simmons.” He told him, voice sympathetic.

“B—but—!”

Simmons was going to protest because he felt that what Doc said wasn’t true at all, but Sheila cut him off.

“Doc is correct.” The robot stated matter-of-factly, “You were under high levels of emotional duress.”

His brown-haired friend nodded quickly, taking over for her, “We all were, to some degree.” Doc said, looking thoughtfully at the wall across from them with a faraway expression, “All of this has been pretty intense, huh?”

“Tell me about it.” Despite himself, Simmons couldn’t help but smile a little at the medic’s very obvious understatement.

A thought suddenly crossed his mind then, and Simmons felt rather guilty that he hadn’t even thought about it until just now given everything they had learned in the past hours.

Admittedly, he had lost a lot of focus when he had heard the news about Grif.  Still, there was so much else going on too just in terms of their own team.  There was the surprising Flowers bombshell.  The fact that Church was actually an A.I. too.  There was also the reveal that apparently both Simmons and Sheila were being used as unwitting spies.

Sheila not only had to contend with all of that, but she also had learned that, like Church and Carolina, she too had altered memories to cover up what Church had always been.

Not to mention that his teammate had also encountered the V.I. she was most likely an offshoot of, only for that aspect of F.I.L.S.S. to sacrifice herself so that they could escape.

Robot or no, he doubted those were easy things to deal with and Sheila had always tried looking out for him.  Simmons felt more than just a bit guilty that he hadn’t even really thought about what she was possibly going through during the mission until just now after it had ended.

He turned to the V.I. sitting nearby, “What about you, Sheila?  How are you doing?”

She tilted her helmeted head slightly at the redhead’s inquiry, perhaps taken aback by it given how beside himself he had been earlier.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine things have been easy for you to process.” Doc chimed in, following Simmons’ lead.

“They…” Sheila paused, as if trying to find the right words to describe how she was viewing the situation, “They have not been.  Not really.” The admission seemed to give her the push she needed to further elaborate though, “But, I am trying to process what has happened as best I can.”

The medic nodded his head in quiet understanding, smiling as encouragingly as usual, “Well, if you ever need to talk, we’re always here.  Church is too.”

“Yes, I know.” There was an obvious smile to her voice as she added, “Thank you.”

Doc tapped his pink-rimmed glasses in a way that had become rather subconscious on his part by now, “If we ever run into him again, I’m sure Lopez would probably be able to provide more of a fellow robot perspective too.”

Sheila glanced from the medic to Simmons, as if afraid for a second that the mention of Grif’s teammate would have some kind of negative reaction.

The cyborg smiled back weakly to reassure her, and the robot seemed rather relieved.

“I hadn’t really thought about talking to Lopez again.  Given the circumstances.” She stated in a surprisingly soft voice, “But I would like to talk to him about this at some point.  I would like to talk to him about a lot of things.  If I could.”

Concepts like “love” and “like” could definitely do strange things even to robots, it seemed.  Neither human wanted to give Sheila any doubts behind her wishful thinking.  After all, well beyond any of them, she more than likely knew what the odds were about having that chance.

“I think we all have people like that.” Doc’s smile had taken on a wistful edge too, and his voice carried a worried tone.

No one said anything for a long while, a lingering stillness hanging over their heads after Doc’s last remark.

Simmons tried not to think about the gnawing hurt building up in his chest as a result of the direction the conversation had headed towards.  Definitely not good to go down that route again if he could avoid it, especially given that his friends also had people they were worried about.

Perhaps thinking it best to say something to avoid having too much time for them to think about how hopelessly lost they were currently, Doc spoke up again to ask a question: “This is all just so _bizarre_ , huh?  I mean, the whole bomb thing is terrible enough as it is, and then there’s the Church situation…”

Yeah, that was definitely true.  Church going from a regular grumpy guy to being a grumpy ghost A.I. who could inhabit robot bodies was all sorts of brain-breaking.

Looking back, the whole thing actually made a twisted sort of sense to the point where it was surprising that their team hadn’t thought of it before.  But, in fairness to them, the entire story did take a whole lot to fully process.

In a way, it was still insane to think that anyone would be that methodical in trying to cover up their actions to the world.

“Then there’s what Church and Delta found out about Captain Flowers too.”

Doc mentioned that part quietly, a frown forming on his face.

It had always been a terrible tragedy that Captain Butch Flowers had been killed in action.  To finally learn about the truth of their captain?  Well, that was pretty much right up there with the whole reveal about Church and the altered memories of their leader, Sheila, and even Agent Carolina.

The bizarreness of Captain Flowers having been murdered by some remnant faction of the surviving Insurrection members who had made it topside while he had been “investigating” them as Agent Florida had been just another lie.  Another one of the myriad of lies that Above Ground military used to cover up unpleasant truths.

Agent Florida had been, in fact, investigating Chairman Hargrove’s connections to some of the more extremely confidential dirty secrets of Project Freelancer.  Most likely, Church and Delta both surmised, he had been killed by someone in Hargrove’s employ.  A plausible “reason” for him turning up dead was created so that neither his team nor his fellow Freelancers would question things further.

In hindsight, they _should_ have regardless.  The Insurrection angle was flimsy at best.  Especially given how quickly and lethally that threat had been dealt with once they had made their presence known to Above Ground.

At the time, Freelancer had more than enough problems that had all started to boil over then as well, while Flowers’ team had been so shocked and grief-stricken over suddenly losing their C.O. that they didn’t really contemplate the situation carefully.

Besides, they had been brought up to trust military reports despite knowing how extreme Above Ground tactics could be.  So, they had taken the information given to them at face value because everyone else who appeared to be in a better position to know “more” did so as well.

Looking back now, it was all so stupidly foolish.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t really do much else but kick themselves over it in the present.

Perhaps they could also just try to make things right at least in some small part for Captain Flowers’ memory.

“Then there was the whole thing with the two of you.” Doc mumbled quietly in the aftermath of the depressing thoughts flowing through all of them at the mention of Captain Flowers.

Sheila nodded, “Yes.  I would like to talk with Church later to get some clarification as to how exactly he and Delta managed to terminate the monitoring program.”

Ever since arriving at the safe house, both their cobalt-armored leader and Carolina had been involved in a pretty heated conversation.  So, it seemed as if Sheila was content to wait to have her query answered.

Truthfully, Sheila was handling that whole issue with a lot of grace compared to how Simmons had reacted to it initially.  Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, to his teammate it was only a tiny portion of the secrets and manipulations she had been exposed to given her memory alteration.

Simmons imagined it wasn’t so much a case of the robot necessarily wanting to demand answers.  It was probably more of a way for her to be able to sort completely through what had transpired with one of her closer friends.

Sheila seemed to notice his regard, “It’s nothing to worry about, Private Simmons.” She informed him, polite as always and with a small tinge of gratitude present in her voice once more due to his concern.

He nodded, smiling slightly back at her.

“Your dad must have known about the cybernetic enhancement program since it was through the military.  Right, Simmons?” Doc asked quietly, as if afraid to bring up the question at all, “After all, he’s a general and everything.  Do you think he…”

The medic trailed off, as if realizing he really wasn’t comfortable finishing his thought.  But it was pretty obvious what his friend had been about to ask.

_“Did you think he knew about the classified additions?”_

Honestly, as much as he tried to deny it, a part of Simmons already knew the answer.

“He was the one who brought up the program to me first.”

Simmons remembered that succinctly.  It was one of the few conversations that he and his father had that had lasted longer than ten minutes.  Simmons remembered how much he had craved that connection after his mother’s death.

Thinking back on it, his father had always been an ardent supporter of Chairman Hargrove as well.

The redhead sighed, “I’m pretty sure he knew all along about it.”

For as long as he could remember, Simmons had always been a major disappointment to his father.  He supposed that, to General Richard Simmons, a tool was an appropriate way to view someone who had consistently been nothing more than a failure as both a son and a soldier in their proud family’s military history.

“S—sorry.” Doc shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking hesitant, “Are you…going to confront him over it?”

It was surprising to hear that kind of question coming from the peaceful Doc, of all people.

Caught off-guard for a moment, Simmons blinked his eyes and then shook his head.  His hands were clenched tightly to his knees, and he wondered if he would break his armor again accidently because of his cybernetic strength if he wasn’t too careful.

Truthfully, he _wanted_ to confront the man.  The Above Grounder wanted to find his asshole father, and then shout and curse at him with all of the might of his nonexistent lungs.  He longed to just _finally_ let it all out.  To move away from his stupid, childish desire to please someone who only ever saw him as all of the imperfections and weaknesses he far too often _only_ ever saw in himself now.

But a more rational part of Simmons knew that it wouldn’t change a fucking goddamned thing, and that such an action could very possibly compromise everything they had been trying to accomplish recently.

While it was probably a long shot at best, and even thinking about it was causing Simmons to feel like he might need to vomit and cry all at the same time again, there was something even more important that he still had to do.  Yes, the cyborg had another, even more selfish reason for not wanting to just say _“Fuck it!”_ to everything.

He wanted, _needed_ to do anything he could to help Grif.  If it was possible.

Clinging to that slim hope was the only reason Simmons wasn’t hyperventilating or punching mirrors right now.  He couldn’t do much if he let himself become an emotional mess once more, or if he did anything that might compromise their mission right now.

In that case, he wouldn’t be of help to Grif.  Or to anyone else for that matter.

“Right now, we have a lot of other things we need to focus on instead.” Simmons said quietly in response to Doc’s question.

The cyborg was surprised that his voice didn’t really shake nearly as much as it usually did, despite how he was still stressed and upset on the inside.  Both of his teammates nodded in agreement to his statement, but considering everything they had been through together and everything they had learned recently he had a suspicion they knew what he was covering up anyways.

From the knowing look in Doc’s eye, and the sympathetic pats he received simultaneously on both of his shoulders seconds later, Simmons confirmed his hunch that both Doc and Sheila saw right through to what he was actually thinking and feeling just then.

The redhead was immensely grateful that they had the tact to not bring it up, even when he wiped hastily at his suddenly rather teary organic eye a moment afterwards.

*****

There were a lot of ways in which this entire _fucking plan_ was incredibly risky and altogether stupid.

At least, that's what Lavernius Tucker thought as the small group of six continued walking along through what seemed, for all intents and purposes, a really nice public space for outdoor activities. The Chorus Park they were currently nearby was certainly more expansive than any of the "park-esque" public areas in the Slums, what with their confined spaces and roofs always overhead.

The natural sunlight, as well as the sheer amount of trees and greenery along with the fact that Chorus looked to have actual _space_ for people to move about when they wanted even from farther away still was both incredible and oddly disconcerting. As a Slums resident, this type of park was an utterly foreign concept for him.

Even with his negative thoughts being constantly reiterated in his head, it wasn’t like Tucker had any other ideas that were any better than the one they were currently going with.  At this point, the Resistance didn’t really have any other options.

In fact, discussing future potential plans with others was the whole reason for why they were having this meeting in the first place.  It was probably the only chance they would have to discuss things like possible rescue missions before the big showdown later.

The Resistance members were all pretty desperate at this point, and that sense of dread was only going to grow with each passing hour of inaction and not knowing.

So, yeah, it had been pretty good news earlier when they had _finally_ gotten word from Washington and the other Above Ground military “insiders”.  Especially seeing as that group had been working on a way to get information on potential locations where the relic may have been taken.

Of course, given their all-around crappy situation, it was pretty much expected that the communication wasn’t going to be the hopeful tidings that everyone had secretly wished it would be despite reality.

Seemed to be par the course that any amount of good news that the Resistance received was usually loaded with more than its fair share of bad news too.

Yes, Tucker could have pretty much won a killing on that if he’d bet.  He hadn’t though, largely because he had been inwardly hoping for something more positive himself along with everyone else despite all the evidence to the contrary.

On the bright side?  Their whole first topside excursion gamble had paid off big time, and now there _was_ a list of locales where the relic could have been taken.

That information was, unfortunately, tempered with the fact that it wasn’t a short list, which meant it would be best from a strategic stance to narrow it down before attempting to take further action.  At least, regarding _where_ the potential doomsday weapon in the making was concerned.

Their resources and numbers were extremely limited compared to what Above Ground agents and those asshole mercenaries had at their disposal, and the Resistance no longer had the home-field advantage to make up for it.  It was more than just a given that they would have to be damn certain before taking any kind of major offensive action now.

The information that the inside group had gotten had also contained some far more surprising and personal news too.  News that Tucker still had a hard time processing, even though they had been outcomes he had been desperately trying not to get his hopes too high on.

Apparently, Junior had been mentioned in an Above Ground intelligence report.  Not only him, but the chubby asshole too.

They were both _alive_ still.

…At least, as far as that initial report had been concerned, at any rate.

Tucker wasn’t going to kid himself about the possibility of that status either changing in the future or already having changed since that hacked report had been read.

After all, Above Ground tended to only keep people alive so long as they were useful.  Particularly if those people came from the Slums.

He knew his son had only been kept alive simply due to him being a scientific curiosity as a half-alien hybrid.  Shit, that fucker Felix had confirmed that as much during Junior’s kidnapping.

But, who knew how long even that curiosity would last?  What if the scientists studying the child like some freak of nature decided a dissection might be a more efficient way to conduct their research in the long run?

That line of thought had Tucker wanting to tear up and vomit, while punching a wall all at once.

The “punching a wall” thing in particular was probably not a good idea since he had already done it before.  Especially given that Doctor Grey had threatened to staple his fingers together the next time he did it after he had to get his smarting digits looked at.

Even with Junior being kept alive, no one could say for sure anything on the manner of torturous tests and procedures the child had most likely been forced to endure already.  Nor did most want to even hazard a guess.

Tucker knew Junior was one tough little kid, and he had always been proud of that.  His son could endure a lot, but he was also just a _kid_.  He was probably scared and no doubt hurting, and knowing that made things even worse for Tucker’s own strained emotional state.

The sad truth was that Junior probably had _way_ better odds for being kept alive longer due to his unique circumstances than Grif did.

It had actually been a huge shock to hear that his childhood friend was still alive even given the usual policies towards Resistance fighters displayed by the Above Ground military.

As much as Tucker wanted to be hopeful, there was a twisting, painful voice in the back of his mind telling him that Grif _not_ being dead perhaps wasn’t really all that much a blessing.

Tucker wasn’t sure he really wanted to even know what the fat-ass had gone through since he had bought his two lieutenants time to fall back to safety.  He didn’t want to think on how potentially, even now, the report of his status of being alive could have changed either.

_“They want to arrange a meeting.  Face-to-face.” Kimball informed the small group assembled before her in the bunker, after having let the information she had just thrown their way about the earlier communication sink in._

_Only Kimball, Sarge, the former Freelancers, and the “senior” members of the Red and Blue Teams were in attendance._

_Kimball hadn’t been sure of how to best relay the information to everyone just yet, especially not when any decisions had yet to be made.  On top of that, there weren’t a ton of people who could be pulled away from their duties safely at the moment either._

_Given the connections that most of the assembled group had to their potential allies, it certainly made the most sense to ask for their thoughts first.  At least they all knew enough about the Above Grounders to perhaps make some judgment calls on trust and reliability, if necessary._

_“Makes sense.” York reasoned after a few seconds, “Even secure lines of communication have the potential to be picked up if used too regularly.”_

_“If anyone starts to suspect these guys of acting remotely suspicious, the possibility of the messages being monitored is even more likely.” The leader of the Resistance agreed, frowning._

_“Meetings can be cancelled before they even begin, as opposed to an already sent communication.  They’re easier to cover up and act as if they weren’t going to happen in the first place.” C.T. put in and, judging by the clouded look crossing over her features, Tucker had a sneaking suspicion that she was talking from experience._

_“It’s also a fine way to get yourself killed if you get caught beforehand.” Sarge argued, apparently not quite as on board with the notion as most of the Freelancers seemed to be._

_“Yeah, but by this point that’s a fairly huge risk for all of us, Sarge.” The tan-armored former Freelancer had tried to make it sound like a joke, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best.  The slight smile York sported didn’t even seem to reach his one good eye._

_The brunette’s statement was probably closer to the truth than most of them wanted to think about.  If this entire plan failed,_ nothing _they did_ _was going to matter in the slightest anyways._

_“Well, we’re fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t.” Tucker asked into the uneasy silence that had fallen after York’s remark._

_North smiled, the expression a bit more grimly than his usually encouraging one, “Not exactly the correct wording of that phrase, Tucker, but probably more accurate given this situation.”_

_“So, there_ should _be a meeting.  At least to strategize potential plans.” Tex surmised.  She’d been standing with her arms crossed the entire time, a perpetual frown on her face as she tapped her right hand’s pointer finger against the opposite upper arm in thought._

_“For not only the relic thing, but for rescuing Grif and Junior too.  Right?” Donut asked in a small, hopeful voice._

_There was another uncomfortable silence following the lightish-red fighter’s question.  No one seemed quite willing to look either Donut or Tucker in the face during it._

_Tucker understood why though, and he hated it._

_“Fuck yeah, Donut!” He turned to the younger soldier instead, grateful that he’d asked at all, “No way do I want my kid or the fat-ass staying locked up.”_

_Visible relief came to Donut’s face then.  If there had been any doubt about whether or not the young man was all right in Tucker’s book, it was pretty gone now._

_“The tubby asshole has a lot of groveling to do for making everybody worry,” He continued, not really just for Donut’s sake but for his own as well, “And Junior is getting a shitload of ice cream after this.”_

_If he kept talking about it like that, Tucker could almost believe it was as good-as-done himself._

_“He should have sprinkles with it.” Caboose, who had remained quiet during the heavier discussion, spoke up now that it seemed as if something more hopeful was being talked about.  The blonde was still clinging to Freckles as if he was never going to let his gun-dog go, “Sprinkles on ice cream is the best.”_

_“The whole works, Caboose!” Tucker assured his teammate._

_“As long as he does not eat it too fast.” The blue-armored young man frowned as if remembering something extremely important just then, “Headaches are not as much fun.”_

_“Well, I for one wouldn’t mind trying to rescue Tucker’s alien love baby,” Sarge cut in with a harrumph while ignoring Tucker’s_ “Hey!” _remark and middle finger for how the older man had described Junior, “And I guess launching a rescue for the dirtbag while he’s still alive would be acceptable too.”_

_“Aw, I knew you cared, Sarge!” Donut exclaimed, all sorts of touched at their commanding officer for admitting it even in such a roundabout way._

_“Of course, that would only be so that I could shoot him myself for making such a mess of things.” Sarge stated without preamble, “Principles and all that.”_

_From behind the two human members of Red Team present for the meeting, Lopez shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief._

_“_ _Wow_ _,_ _manera de_ _simplemente_ _arruinar_ _ese momento_ _.”_  {“Wow, way to just ruin that moment.”}

_“If it’s plausible, of course.” Kimball, understandably, seemed hesitant to commit completely to that._

_Tucker caught the momentary pained look in her brown eyes.  Having to make decisions for the greater outcome, regardless of what you might actually want to do, definitely did not make high-end leadership roles seem appealing to him._

_Considering his extremely personal stake in these two matters in particular, the Resistance fighter didn’t really want to think on that possibility either even if a part of him knew it could exist._

_“Arranging any meeting will be risky though.” North seemed to decide getting the conversation to a less emotional one was the best way to go for now, “Too many people leaving this area all at once could lead to some unwanted attention here.”_

_“If our insiders were to come here, they could very easily be followed.” C.T. added to his point._

_“There’s always the potential for a spy in their ranks too,” York brought up._

_Fuck, apparently it wasn’t just Washington and Tex who were paranoid about shit like that amongst the Freelancers.  Tucker was a bit surprised at that given how easy-going York could be._

_“Though that seems pretty doubtful in this case.” The brunette was quick to add to his comment after a moment’s consideration._

_“Knowing some of the idiots helping them out, that’s a given.” Tex spoke up, though there seemed to be an odd tinge of fondness in her voice despite the insult, “Besides, with Carolina?  Anyone she suspected of being a spy would not be a problem for too long.”_

_“Definitely no argument there.” York nodded, an almost nostalgic-looking grin forming on his face._

_Kimball closed her eyes in contemplation following that, as if to formulate a strategy._

_“A small group will arrange to meet up in a neutral area, away from any secure locations in order to avoid suspicion and keep places like this bunker away from attention.” She stated decisively when she finally opened her eyes again about twenty seconds later, “When it has been determined by all parties that it would be safe to do so, our representatives can travel on to wherever would be most ideal for our contacts in order to discuss things openly.”_

_“That does seem to make the most sense from a tactical stance.” North said quietly afterwards, looking impressed at how quickly she had come up with the plan, “There are more of us than the inside agents, so even if things do go downhill during the meeting…”_

_He trailed off, not really sure he wanted to finish that more than just a little unpleasant train of thought._

_Kimball, apparently, while not looking thrilled at stating it outright, felt it was important to make sure everyone knew why she had decided on what she did._

_“The meeting is important, but we have to prepare for any negative outcomes that could very well occur.  Making sure a majority of our fighters will still be around regardless of what happens to stop the relic is always a top priority.”_

_So, the meeting itself was going to be potentially risky.  Pretty par the course for things now with the Resistance, really._

_“So, who gets to go on this little venture then?” Sarge asked.  He grimaced shortly afterwards as if thinking of something unpleasant, “Much as I’d like to not be standing around here twiddling my thumbs when there’s potential killing to be done_ — _”_

_Tucker had to roll his eyes, because it definitely figured that the crazy old sergeant would rather be testing out his aim with his trusty weapon than waiting._

_“If part of the plan involves civilian clothes for the neutral grounds meet-up, I’m pretty much out.” The Red Team leader coughed slightly, glancing at the ground as he muttered, “I didn’t, uh, exactly terminate my military career up here all that legally.”_

_It was all sorts of shocking to hear the older man use something akin to common sense just then, and Sarge seemed equally as loathe to admit he had just done so himself.  The former Above Grounder was fidgeting in an almost embarrassed fashion under the group’s sudden scrutiny._

_But, he was right.  Walking around in armor out in public when_ not _part of the actual military would definitely not be the smartest idea ever, and anyone from Above Ground with a criminal record or someone who would be more than recognizable to the general populace could easily compromise this whole arrangement before it even happened._

_Thinking on it, Tucker didn’t think someone like Vanessa Kimball, leader of the Slums Resistance, would be able to traipse around without her helmet on given the probably very biased news feeds civilians here were exposed to either._

_“Which would definitely leave out all of us Freelancers too.” York nodded his head in astute agreement with Sarge’s comment._

_If someone like Sarge was concerned that his past with the military could jeopardize things, it was definitely a given that the special killer agents who had defected from a top secret Above Ground military program would sure as shit do so as well._

_Kimball nodded her head slightly at their assessments, but looked troubled by them all the same, “It would have been a lot more ideal if someone who was familiar with the terrain was part of the group, but even Doctor Grey was most likely issued a desertion charge by now…”_

_She trailed off then, frowning and looking in Caboose’s direction with what could only be described as extreme hesitation._

_The blonde in question let go of Freckles with one hand to give a friendly wave her way, apparently oblivious to the concerned look in her eyes, “Oh, a trip sounds like fun!”_

_No wonder Kimball seemed so reluctant, if she was thinking what Tucker thought she was._

_“Oh, fuck no.” He groaned, hoping maybe he could stop this wreck from going full-course._

_“He’s a Throwaway, which means he wouldn’t have a criminal record.” North said gently._

_“Yeah, but I don’t think he could find his way out of_ this _building, let alone lead us somewhere else.” Tucker grimaced, “Besides, it’s been how many years since he’s been up here?  What makes you think he’d remember any places?”_

_“Oh, I am good at remembering things, Tucker!” Caboose apparently was following the conversation enough to know that he should jump in at that point, trying to look indignant at the implication otherwise and coming across more as a child who was pouting, “I remembered that I shouldn’t touch the stove the other day.”_

_His teammate’s comment didn’t really help his case._

_“Only after you nearly burned the fucking mess hall down again!” Tucker countered in frustration._

_It was a damn good thing Andersmith was apparently an expert when it came to fire prevention after having spent so much time with Caboose._

_“But, that made me remember.  See?” Caboose was beaming at his flawless logic._

_Tucker gave up trying to argue and turned to look imploringly at Kimball instead._

_She didn’t seem too thrilled with the whole notion herself, but she let out a sigh in resignation, “We don’t really have too many other options, Tucker.”_

_He knew that, even though he didn’t really like it.  After all, Caboose was his teammate.  His teammate who was way too open sometimes and not at all there in the common sense department._

_It wasn’t as if Tucker hadn’t already decided that he was going to go to the meeting regardless, so he’d have to just make a mental note to look out for Caboose too._

_Seeing Tucker deflate a bit on the issue, Kimball shot him a sympathetic look and then turned back to face Caboose, “Are there any Above Ground locations you think you could remember how to get to, Caboose?”_

_He frowned in thought.  The expression always looked a little odd when Caboose did it, as if he was about to go cross-eyed: “There’s a park with a really big statue of that planet we came from before.”_

_“Old Earth?” Donut asked, noticing that it seemed as if Caboose wanted to actually put a name to it._

_“Or the moon.”_

_No one had the heart to correct him on that, as Caboose seemed fairly certain it was one or the other despite Old Earth’s moon having never been stated as being colonized in the historical records from the colony ships._

_“It was pretty.” Caboose continued conversationally, “Lots of dogs peed on it though.”_

_Something about the description lit up Sarge’s eyes, “Must be Chorus.” He declared, “It’s the only park I know of up here with that sort of danged hippie art on display.”_

_“You could go camping there!” Caboose nodded his head vigorously at the mention of the place’s name._

_York scratched his head thoughtfully then, “Isn’t that the place with the underground lake everyone says is radioactive?”_

_“Oh, yeah, the green one!” The blue-armored fighter seemed quite pleased that he could talk about the area with people who knew about it too, “It glows all the time.”_

_“Seriously?” Tucker shot Caboose and York deadpan looks, “Above Grounders go there to camp?”_

_York shrugged his shoulders and gave a goofy sort of smile, “Well, they do have a barrier to deter people from getting too close without protective gear.  It’s apparently within safe levels if you’re not directly standing at the shore.”_

_“You definitely should not swim in it though.” Caboose intoned seriously, “Drinking it probably isn’t too good either.”_

_Tucker could only shake his head in disbelief.  The recreational activities of Above Grounders were weird as fuck._

_“A lot of people do camp at Chorus.” North rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “We could actually use reinforced camping gear to hide armor and weapons.”_

_“So, the group acts like they’re meeting an old friend to sleep over at their house?” Donut asked, an eager light in his brown eyes, “Oh, I’m in!”_

_“Are you sure, Donut?” Kimball regarded him in mild surprise after his declaration, “It’s more dangerous than that in reality.”_

_Donut wasn’t deterred at all, however, as he smiled in response, “Oh, I know that.  But I can’t let Caboose do all of the hard work.”_

_“Lieutenant Snickerdoodle is nice!” Caboose seemed even more eager now that he knew a friend was coming along too._

_“Besides, since Sarge can’t come, someone has to represent the Red Team.”_

_“Damn straight!” Sarge looked at the pink-armored fighter proudly._

_“It’s too bad you can’t come since you can’t take off your armor, huh, Lopez?” Donut turned to his teammate then, genuinely seeming upset for the robot as if he knew for certain that he would have wanted to go._

_“_ _Al estar en un_ _viaje de campamento con ustedes dos no sería divertido, pero estoy atascado con el viejo aquí. No sé qué es peor.”_ {“Being on a camping trip with you two would not be fun, but I am stuck with the old man here.  I don't know which is worse.”}

_Donut nodded his head sympathetically to Lopez’s plight, “Don’t worry, Lopez, if we can we’ll get you some souvenirs and take lots of pictures so you don’t feel left out.  There’s always scrapbook opportunities wherever you look!”_

_“_ _Por favor,_ _no lo hagas.”_ {“Please don’t.”}

_Well, that pretty much further settled things for Tucker too.  He sighed, “I can’t let those two morons go out on their own.”_

_Besides, if doing this would help him get to Junior and Grif sooner he was all for it, regardless of how brain-breaking a journey this might be._

_With some of the things Caboose and Donut were now discussing amongst themselves, “brain-breaking” might just be a given._

_Even if that Hargrove asshole was curious about his sword, like Felix’s partner had said a while ago, Tucker very much doubted that he had been put on any sort of criminal list given his identity as a not well-known Resistance fighter._

_He had a feeling that most things connected to the alien tech were probably kept well out of the knowledge of the public sphere for a whole shitload of paranoid reasons._

_Kimball shot him a grateful look just then.  The Resistance leader probably hadn’t been too thrilled with the odds of Donut and Caboose attempting to do this type of mission alone either._

_“Both Sarge and myself will talk to some of the lieutenants about this as well.” She informed him, “Given the circumstances, they aren’t currently as busy as some of the other Resistance members are.”_

_Which was a polite way to avoid mentioning what had happened to Grif and the fact that Doctor Grey still hadn’t given either Bitters or Matthews permission to take part in strenuous activities yet._

_Kimball continued: “I don’t necessarily think all of them should go, but if some are willing I don’t think having a few more ‘camping’ buddies would hurt.”_

_It seemed like a good idea, and it would probably keep Tucker from going nuts just traveling with Donut and Caboose by himself._

_He nodded his head, before thinking of something and wincing slightly at the mention of the lieutenants, “Just…maybe avoid telling Kai about Grif, just yet?” Tucker asked her hopefully, “I don’t want to get her hopes up.”_

_He could see Sarge and C.T. shooting concerned looks at him, oddly enough.  Though, if they didn’t personally think that what he had said was the best course of action, neither said anything directly._

_Tucker knew that if Kai found out about it later, he’d be on the wrong end of one of her infamous shouting matches and would probably get his balls handed to him on a silver platter for good measure as well.  But, fuck it!  It was bad enough that he knew about the situation when there was no real certainty either way._

_If Kai somehow convinced herself this meant that Grif and Junior were definitely coming back and then it turned out to all be for nothing—well, he’d rather not even think about that possibility, if he could._

_Besides, fucking knowing her, she’d also try to do something potentially very stupid, sort of like what he was planning.  He knew Grif wouldn’t forgive him if he allowed something that would put Kai in danger to happen._

_Kimball, thankfully, seemed to understand where he was coming from with his request._

_Or maybe it had more to do with the troubled look clouding over his face following it as she patted his shoulder sympathetically, “Of course.” She assured Tucker, “I’ll let you know when things are finalized.”_

…Which was what had led to him, Donut, Palomo, Andersmith, and Jensen all dressed in civilian hiking clothes following _Caboose_ , of all people, to the meeting place hours later.

In Caboose’s defense, he actually did somehow manage to avoid getting the group hopelessly lost in the first five minutes after they left the safe house.

It seemed as if this Chorus place was one that he had probably spent a lot of time in even as a little kid.  As a result, Tucker’s teammate seemed to be experiencing something probably akin to muscle memory given that Caboose was pretty much able to hone in on where the park was the second he saw a few familiar landmarks on streets.

It was actually pretty hard to not stop and stare at the open spaces and towering buildings that weren’t built literally on top of one another in an open-mouthed, gaping way that would have definitely labeled all of the Slums residents as “clearly not from here” as much as having a huge neon sign saying it would have done.

Tucker still couldn’t stop himself from doing it once or twice, though he was a bit better at schooling his expression into one of bored “same old shit” than Donut and the two younger fighters were.  He’d harrumph under his throat whenever he felt they were being too “wide-eyed” about a specific sight, generally causing them to tone it down at least a little bit.

Thankfully, Andersmith was so caught up in listening to Caboose’s nostalgic ramblings with his own wide-eyed, and really odd, hero worship of the younger captain that he didn’t seem to be as aware of how foreign all of their surroundings were as the others.

“They have roads where you can actually fit more than one vehicle on them!” Jensen breathed out once when they were close by a main street.

It was definitely eye-opening seeing that given how the crowded streets in the Slums could barely fit one smaller vehicle.  Generally, the vehicles in the Slums were antique contraptions that miners would use to get to farther away tunnels at a decent time.  There were usually severe restrictions where vehicles weren’t even allowed on certain Slums levels or streets at all.

“I wonder if that means public transportation isn’t as huge a focus up here?” Donut looked around at one such large vehicle that seemed to stop and pick up passengers at specially marked points on the map, apparently noting that it didn’t seem crammed to full capacity at all.

Whatever it was, it was definitely different from the transports that took people to the various levels in the Slums.

“Maybe not.” Tucker was surprised that the Red Team member would even wonder about that of all things.

“Being shoved in a tight space really helps you get closer to your fellow man though!”

“I think I understand your point, but maybe we should change the subject right now.” Tucker’s nerves were on edge as it was, he didn’t really want his brain broken trying to figure out some of Donut’s odd word choices.

“I probably could drive better here.”  Jensen stated quietly then, looking at the roads almost longingly, “Maybe.”

“Well, I guess more space would lower your crash rate.” Donut said helpfully, “Bitters is going to be teaching you later, right?”

“Yeah, he promised!” She grinned, “He was a bit loopy from pain medication when he said that though, so I’ll probably have to blackmail him into keeping his word.”

 “Oh, I have a few things that could work for that!” Palomo perked up at the mention of his childhood friend, “Think a picture of us dressed up as his mom for his sister’s play would work?  His expression is hilarious in it!  First time I saw him do that frown he usually has all the time now.”

“That would work, I think!” There was an obviously mischievous light in the younger girl’s eyes.

Geez, she was spending way too much time around Kai for her own good.

“…Wouldn’t that be just as embarrassing for you?” Tucker couldn’t believe he even had to ask.

Palomo seemed unperturbed though, grinning brightly, “Oh, I made it _work_!”

Sometimes, Tucker was honestly not sure whether or not it was incredibly frustrating or actually impressive that his carefree subordinate had as high a level of confidence as he did.  Especially since the outcome of this whole episode would no doubt be Bitters trying to strangle him.

But, it would probably be all sorts of amusing to see how it all would play out since it didn’t really involve him.

The group actually found the towering globe of Old Earth near the Chorus entrance sign to be rather impressive despite Sarge’s remark about it being hippie art.  Though, seeing a couple of people with dogs circling around it as Caboose had mentioned, didn’t exactly make them want to stick around too long to admire it.

Upon entering the actual park, it was a pretty heft hike from the outskirts of the city along well-worn trails that were surrounded with really gorgeous forest scenery.

The urge to stop and gawk was even stronger here as, while the city itself was rather foreign and alien in a lot of ways compared to living in the Slums and underground, seeing this much nature was even more mind-blowing to the Resistance fighters.

It was easy enough to imagine people retreating here on vacations from busy days at work, even if the idyllic scenery was a sharp reminder of just how much was denied to people like them who, unfortunately, just happened to be born on the wrong part of the planet.

Thankfully, since it was a shitload of walking they had just done _and_ they were tugging along rather hefty loads of what appeared to be camping gear and tents (that, in reality, were armor and weaponry), no one seemed to be in much of a mood for observations this time around.

Instead, Caboose eagerly showed the small group the way to where the meeting was supposed to take place.

Evidently, because the universe had a sense of humor and really wanted to make Tucker dwell on the really bizarre reasoning as to why it was a good idea to have a camping spot near it in the first place, it had to be the fucking cavern where the radioactive lake was located.

Calling it a “cavern” wasn’t too accurate, at least not by any definitions of people who had lived in the etched out areas of the Slums would be concerned.

It was more like a giant cave formed in a hill, rather similar to Tex’s bunker, only actually naturally formed.  The cave itself was perhaps only just a few meters into the crust of the planet.

There weren’t even any sealed off tunnels from it into the mines sprawling into myriad catacombs and twisting mazes much farther down below.  Which was probably a fucking good thing in Tucker’s opinion, because the idea of a potentially radioactive lake filtering into their water supply wasn’t something he really wanted to have to worry about.

The entire cave was paved in an eerie, yet oddly warm greenish glow, even from the entranceway.  The source of the glow seemed to be at the far back of the space: a decent-sized pool of water that was clearly being illuminated by something quite strong given how the aura seemed to encompass everything.

There were very obvious signs set up as visible barriers to indicate what should be considered a safe distance from the site.  Whether because of active radiation or because they were trying to just prevent drowning cases since the lake wasn’t exactly small, he couldn’t tell.

After a quick survey of the area to make sure that there were no active campers or tourists around, the group let out a collective sigh and plunked down to catch their breaths while waiting for their rendezvous to actually take place.

Well, all of them save for the freakishly strong Caboose, who seemed to have had no problem with hefting his equipment on his back all that distance.

All they had to do now if someone wandered in was just pretend to be regular campers, which shouldn’t be much trouble at all.

Palomo frowned and plucked at the shirt he was wearing with a grimace on his face, “Are anyone else’s clothes really itchy?”

“You should always use fabric softener, Private Palomo.” Donut chided.

“I guess so.  It’s hard to keep track of all of that stuff though.” The rookie’s frown deepened as he thought of something else, “I might have shrunken them too because my underwear is riding up my—“

“Shut the fuck up, Palomo.” Tucker rolled his eyes.

The dark-skinned young man pouted, but apparently the stressed out tone to Tucker’s voice made any further commentary on his part stop before it began.

Jensen was glancing over at the lake, apparently deciding that changing the topic from underwear was a good idea, “Do you think it really is radioactive?  Maybe there’s just some kind of unique algae in it that glows?”

Admittedly, nerd topics weren’t going to probably last too long amongst this crowd either.  But, at least the female lieutenant had tried.

Tucker shrugged, “I have no fucking clue.” He answered, seeing Palomo squirming uncomfortably on his spot on the ground, “But if Palomo mentions his underwear again, he’s going for a swim.”

“Aw, man.” Palomo grimaced, “Complaining about it helps me take my mind off of it, Captain Tucker!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s doing the exact opposite of that, Palomo.” He sighed in exasperation.

Andersmith decided to take this time to ask Jensen a question rather than be stuck contemplating itchy underwear and radioactive lakes, “Did Volleyball and Kaikaina choose to stay behind then?”

More than likely, given Tucker’s earlier request to Kimball, she probably hadn’t even broached the subject to Kai at all.

It certainly didn’t seem as if _any_ of the lieutenants had known about the information on Grif and Junior until Tucker and Donut had filled them in on it while they had been leaving for the meeting.

The girl frowned at the mention of her two friends, “Yeah.  I think Kai maybe made herself a little sick earlier, and Volleyball wanted to make sure she didn’t push herself anymore than necessary.”

“Understandable.” Andersmith gave a slight nod at her remark, his deep voice quiet and contemplative, “Doctor Grey didn’t think either Matthews or Bitters should go on any missions yet either.”

“Which means it’s just the two of us representing Red Team this time!” Donut added in cheerfully in an attempt to bolster the suddenly more somber mood flowing over the place.

Donut was right though, now that Tucker thought about it.  All of the lieutenants who weren’t on this mission were technically on Red Team save for Kai, though why their team got so many of the recruits in the first place he never had figured out.

But, given that Blue Team had a former Freelancer in their ranks and a talking gun it probably evened out.  Not to mention _yours truly_ , which really put them out of the park in terms of sheer awesomeness as far as Tucker was concerned.

Jensen gave a weak smile, concerned once again over the lieutenants left behind now that she had been reminded of them.  Tucker reached over and gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat.

“I asked C.T. to keep an eye on Kai and everyone else while we’re gone.” He said as way of reassurance, “She’ll make sure they’re eating and taking care of themselves, and not doing anything too stupid.”

The young girl nodded, seeming a little more at ease with the mention of there being someone more in charge who would be looking out for their little group of friends, “Thank you, sir.”

“Eh, no biggie.” He grinned back, “It’s what I do.”

Donut and Andersmith both shot him appreciative looks too.  Tucker had mostly asked that favor of C.T. more as a way to assuage his own worries that everyone would be okay while they were gone.  But, if it would help alleviate someone else’s worry too, it was another plus in his book.

“If we’re successful, we may have some good news to bring back.” Andersmith reasoned as well.

One could definitely hope.

“It _is_ oddly peaceful here.” Donut spoke up just then, gazing around the rather warm cave appreciatively.

A few of the others nodded in agreement, though Tucker was still not thrilled about the potential “radioactive lake” bit.  The fact that no one seemed to know for certain if it was true or not was certainly more than just a little troubling.

“Yeah, I bet a ton of the guys would like to see this.” Palomo regarded the lake with undisguised curiosity brimming in his eyes, “Do you think it would be safe to get closer?”

Andersmith looked at the sign markers and frowned, “Probably not without armor on.”

Well, at least one of them beyond Tucker actually seemed a little more cautious about what they happened to be shooting the breeze by.

“Which is really weird not wearing here.” Jensen muttered, crossing her arms at the reminder that they were more exposed than usual in what counted as enemy territory no matter how peaceful or disconcertingly beautiful the scenery might be, “Or without weapons.”

Caboose, who had been oddly quiet despite his earlier inane ramblings about everything under the sun getting there, looked over at what appeared to be a cooler he had hefted there by himself, “I didn’t ask Freckles if he was scared of boxes.”

“Oh, you think he might be claustrophobic?” Donut frowned, apparently not having even thought of it as a possibility before.

“That too.”

Tucker wasn’t really sure given the blank expression on his teammate’s face if he actually knew what claustrophobic meant.

Personally, he was pretty glad he could conceal his sword more easily than most other weapons when it wasn’t activated.  At least they had one weapon that they wouldn’t have to go through a process to retrieve if something really unexpected happened.

“I’m sure Freckles is fine, Caboose.” Donut remarked kindly, “He’s probably using this time to nap.”

“Napping is good.” Caboose seemed to bounce back pretty quickly at the assurance, looking around at everyone excitedly, “Should we sing songs?”

“That’s an excellent idea, Captain Caboose!” Andersmith’s enthusiasm was quite apparent in his reply.

“It is supposed to be a camping trip, right?” By her response, Jensen also didn’t seem to think it was the worst idea in the world.

“Oh, oh!  We should make a fire too then!  I brought marshmallows!” Donut was practically jumping on the balls of his feet now, “The trick to keeping them from melting off the stick is to spear them right through the middle!”

It was probably a true blessing for Tucker’s brain at that point that Caboose was suddenly staring at the cave’s entrance, wide-eyed and waving with an enormous grin on his face while exclaiming: “Agent Washington can sing too!”

 _That_ got Tucker’s attention, and he spun his head around to look in the direction that his teammate was waving.

Sure enough, there was Agent Washington.  The Freelancer’s gray eyes widened in surprise when he got closer to the small group.

“Caboose, Donut, and _Tucker_?  You’re here?”

Tucker supposed he could understand the surprise, given the circumstances.  Considering how dangerous this whole meet-up could potentially be, Caboose and Donut probably were odd choices to a person with actual military training like Washington.

Maybe the Above Grounder had just assumed that Tucker wouldn’t have been included simply due to the teal soldier’s personal stakes regarding what the meeting was to discuss.

Still, Tucker couldn’t help but be a little annoyed at the disbelief all the same, “Way to act happy to see us, jackass.” He grumbled, getting up from his spot on the ground.

Washington didn’t seem even slightly taken aback by the angry note in Tucker’s voice, “I just…wasn’t sure who to expect.”

“Well, Caboose _is_ from here after all,” Tucker shrugged, before fixing the Freelancer with a look just daring him to argue with his next remark, “And it’s not like I wasn’t going to be coming, given what you guys sent in your last message.”

An apologetic look flashed in Washington’s eyes, and he nodded his head sympathetically, “Right.  Of course.  Sorry.”

“Besides, it’s important for friends to stick together too!” Donut added his own reasoning for being there, a smile bright as the sun on his face.

Tucker could definitely understand now why Grif had always referred to Donut as “way too fucking perky” in previous conversations.

“That comment really took the drama out of mine, dude.” Tucker sighed and shook his head at the Red Team member.

Washington ignored them, looking over his shoulder cautiously.  He was always uber-paranoid about everything, Tucker knew, but in this case it probably wasn’t without reason.

The Freelancer then gave a nod in the direction of the three Resistance fighters he didn’t know yet as a form of greeting, “Introductions can happen on the way, but we should get moving now.”

Given the time frame they were on, Tucker was actually glad for once for the blonde’s abruptness.  Especially considering that the Resistance fighter had a feeling he was going to have a hefty debate on his hands about a certain topic he was planning to bring up once the meeting was underway.

*****

“Stop that.”

Agent Carolina’s even-more-than-usual-pissed-off voice warned Leonard Church against strumming his fingers along the surface of the kitchen table again.

The offending digits were metallic underneath really disconcertingly realistic-looking synthetic skin.  Fuck, even Simmons’ patches of artificial skin didn’t look that that real.  Shuddering inwardly, he glanced from his robotic fingers to the Freelancer’s face across from him.

Judging from the glowering look that was currently suffusing all of Carolina’s facial features, it was probably a good idea to heed her command.

He might now know himself to be an Artificial Intelligence, but whoever had designed these stupid-ass, yet highly convenient and altogether rather handsome, human-looking robotic bodies had apparently rigged them to feel what he supposed would be the equivalent of physical pain.

Church may have come back as a ghost after getting shot, and he was pretty fucking sure that he could leave this replacement tin can anytime he wanted now that he was aware of what he was.  But, still, he remembered that the getting shot thing had fucking _hurt_.

So he knew that if something happened to this body while he was inside it, it would hurt like a mother-fucking bitch too.

In other words, it would feel exactly like going on a date with Tex.

Which he had probably never _actually_ done, now that Church thought about it.

Thanks to the newfound “insight” the A.I. had gotten from accidentally merging with Epsilon like he had, he could start making out some of the inconsistencies in the false memories he’d been given as Leonard Church.

Or, was it the other way around, and he was now an Epsilon that had merged with Alpha?  He had a hard time really figuring out when or where one of them began and the other ended.  The whole thing was way too fucking complicated to keep track of, at least from his perspective.

He was fairly certain, for instance, that he had only met Agent Texas face-to-face once.  During her defection from Project Freelancer.  Despite that, he was also more than certain that he had _known_ her before then, whatever the fuck that weird sentiment truly meant.

It was all definitely way too damn confusing for his tastes.  Even knowing what he did now, it seemed like he would honestly never have any true answers and that was beyond frustrating.

It was all too bizarre, and a part of Church wanted nothing more than to just jump right back into heavy denial mode.

Unfortunately, he knew enough now to recognize that that really wasn’t an option anymore.

Besides, dwelling on that any longer wasn’t going to earn him any brownie points with the woman glaring at him from across the kitchen table as she waited for a statement of some kind from him.

“Nice vacation house, Carolina.” Church figured maybe being his usual asshole self would help soften things up a bit and help him avoid getting potentially throttled, “I don’t think I’ve been invited here before.”

“You’re changing the subject.” Her green eyes narrowed into dagger points, “It’s not going to work.”

Church sighed.  He’d figured it wouldn’t, not really.  But, well, he’d wanted to try anyways.

“If you’re still pissed about the Wyoming thing, I think I’ve already explained about that more than enough already.” He began, his robotic body sinking back into his chair, “We needed those assholes off our backs and I had the leverage to make that happen.  There wasn’t enough time to ask for permission.”

She stared down at the cup of coffee in front of her.  Church had seen her pour the damn thing two hours ago, so it was no doubt ice cold by now.

“No, I’m not angry about that anymore.” Carolina told him after a few moments, “I would have _liked_ to have known about it beforehand, but it was the best call at the time.”

“Oh?” He raised a disbelieving eyebrow, “So than, what’s the reason for why you’ve been trying to shoot death rays at me?”

Her own eyebrows quirked upwards at his rather colorful phrase, and he knew then that the redhead probably wasn’t even extremely pissed at him anymore.

Because, if she had been?  He would have been a smoking heap of rubble on the floor and not just getting cross looks.  Instead of responding, however, she glanced over at the doorway leading to the rest of her “home away from home”.

“It seems like things for your team have calmed down somewhat.”

Well, it _had_ been awhile since that whole cluster-fuck of a mission had happened.

There had been a lot of chaos and movement in the immediate aftermath.  What with Simmons’ somewhat understandable but still rather frustrating freak-out over the news about Grif and all.  Church had been almost convinced that Carolina had actually held an inner debate in her head back then about knocking the cyborg out just so that they could get out of the area quickly.

Then they managed to get to the safe house here undetected by some miraculous twist of fate, although Church was also fairly certain it would take him way too long to even attempt to accurately retrace their steps given all of the round-about routes Carolina had led the group on just to ensure that they lost any potential pursuers.

Following that, he was then left to explain the truth about what had happened to Captain Flowers.  That information had actually hurt a surprising lot to even say out loud, given that Church was pretty sure that the blue-armored Freelancer had actually tried helping him and Sheila out by having them “recruited” to his team as he had.

Truthfully, Church had been all sorts of glad when Carolina and Washington had decided to take a break from all of the information dumping to contact the Resistance people.  It was probably a good idea to let them in on what they had learned about the possible locations for this stupid relic that they needed to find before the Slums went “ _kaboom!_ ” and all.

It had given the A.I. a chance to rest and catch his bearings a bit.  He knew that was something his teammates had probably needed to do as well.

More than likely it was what Carolina needed also, but he was smart enough to know not to say that to her face.

“Well, look who’s changing the fucking subject now.” Church couldn’t help but retort back, smirking slightly.

She sighed, choosing to ignore his smartass remark, “It’s probably a good thing Washington volunteered to meet up with the Resistance fighters on his own.”

Church had more than just a passing suspicion that Washington had only done that in order to get away from any mentions of Epsilon for a while himself.

Not that he could really blame the guy.  Reliving what had happened when Epsilon had been implanted into the Freelancer’s head had definitely helped him understand Washington’s perspective a bit more clearly.

The guy could still be a massive tool, obviously, but now Church knew there was actual reasoning behind why that was.  Washington’s mind was no doubt pretty fucked up given that particular incident, not to mention along with everything else that had ended up occurring afterwards.

Besides, it wasn’t like Church himself wasn’t viewed as something of a giant tool in some people’s eyes either.  Even if he knew it was probably just because they were all massively jealous assholes.

“Yeah, I think everyone just needed some time to process things.” Church stated quietly to the redhead.

She shot him a look then, “Have you?”

It was a loaded question despite how vaguely she had worded it.  He frowned, mulling it over for a second or two.

“Honestly, Carolina?” Church finally said, shrugging his shoulders as he did so, “I don’t really have a goddamned clue.”

He still felt…well, like _himself_.  Like he always had.  Just with this sense that there was this whole other side of himself that he was also now painfully, acutely aware of too.

As scary as it probably was to admit it, Church knew that this “other side” was probably the one closest to his _actual_ self.

Dwelling on it was confusing, terrifying, and frustrating all at once.

He was Leonard Church.  He was Alpha.  A part of him, a _large_ part of him, was now Epsilon too.

He knew and remembered so many things that he had been completely ignorant on before.  It seemed like it was more than any one being should have memory of, or should contain inside themselves.

Knowing that brought back all of the hurt he had been trying to ignore.  Knowing just how much of the life he’d led previously had been lies?  Well, that made everything all the more craptastic.

It also made Church even more fucking pissed off than he was usually, which was probably a pretty terrifying concept in and of itself as “angry and angrier” tended to be his default settings.  He was especially pissed off at the people responsible for it all.

One asshole in particular…

Church regarded Carolina sitting across from him then, suspecting that for her own reasons she probably felt rather similarly.

“I really don’t know.” He admitted, his voice coming out a lot quieter than normal, “I’m fucking confused and upset, and goddamned pissed off though.”

“So, not much of a change then?” She deadpanned without missing a beat.

Church couldn’t help but snort a little.  The Freelancer actually had a fucking awesome sense of humor when she wanted to show it.

“Hey, it’s not my fault everyone else in the goddamned world but me happen to be jackasses and morons.” He countered back, a sort-of half-smirk on his face.

Carolina shook her head and said nothing in response to his remark, looking for a moment both mildly amused and exasperated.  But, despite the slight joking exchange they had just gotten into, a moment later and the expression on her face returned to its customary guarded one.

The redhead was contemplating something, and it didn’t seem to be very pleasant.

“Epsilon was memory.” She said finally, giving him a pointed look, “So, how much do you remember now, Church?”

He sighed, knowing she wasn’t just referring to the fact that he obviously now knew what he really was, “Way too fucking much.  That’s for sure.”

Beyond the anger Church felt, there was a whole lot of hurt too.

Looking at the person sitting across from him, at someone he still had a hard time remembering as _not_ being family, he knew there were a whole lot of similar emotions running through Carolina as well.  In a sad, twisted sort of way, Church supposed they actually _were_ still family and that seemed even more fucked up to him for some reason.

“Do you…remember more now?” Church asked her quietly, “Or have misgivings on things?”

Carolina frowned at the questions, and Church found that he honestly wasn’t sure what answers from her he wanted to hear.

In a way, this “bond” they had now, no matter how artificially produced it was in reality, was one of the constants in his life.  The A.I. was rather reluctant to let go of it despite how little truth it actually had.

“Unlike you, I don’t have the option to regain my unaltered memories quite as readily,” she began, looking at him with a sympathetic look, “And clearly there are some negatives to that as well.”

“You’re telling me.” He couldn’t help but let out a derisive snort again, “My whole life goal of not wanting anything to do with anything?  I totally fucking understand it so much better now.”

Oh, _those_ had definitely been the days.

Church let out a nostalgic sigh, never minding the fact that it hadn’t been really all that long ago when he had felt that way.

“But, Delta’s theory is far too plausible.  You being as you are helped to further prove it.  There’s no use in denying what happened.” There was a sharp edge to her voice as the Freelancer spoke, “It isn’t even all that shocking, given what _he’s_ capable of.”

“Carolina…” Church began, but then quickly stopped himself.  He sucked at doling out comfort.  Besides, with this situation, what could he really say?

She shot him a look of warning, apparently not wanting to hear any words of sympathy either, “All that matters now is stopping Hargrove and finding the Director.”

“You want to kill him.”

It was obvious from her inflection just then, and Church almost kicked himself for not really having thought of that possibility before.

“I don’t see why that would be a huge shock by this point.” There was barely controlled anger in Carolina’s words then.

It wasn’t.  Not really.  Given all of the shit involving Freelancer?  Yeah, Carolina had more than enough reason to want to see the Director dead due to all of the suffering the man had caused.

All of these more recent revelations had only just further fueled her resolve to do so.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything about that before?” Church groaned, once more feeling a familiar mixture of frustration and helplessness in regards to being out the loop.

It never failed.  _Everyone_ always kept him in the dark when it came to their fucking secrets, no matter how close he thought they were to him.  Carolina and Tex both.

Fuck, Tex had _known_ and even lied to his goddamned face!

“I wasn’t in a position to talk about it, and I didn’t want to get your team involved in the first place.” Carolina shrugged, looking slightly regretful that everything had changed on that position now due to the circumstances: “Besides, I figured you would try to talk me out of it.  That wasn’t something I could risk.”

Well, okay, that did make at least _some_ sense.  Beforehand, yeah.

Had Church known that she’d been going on some one-woman crusade to kill the Director he probably would have tried stopping her because of how potentially crazy and suicidal that was.  Carolina, in turn, would have probably killed him in response.  Which, admittedly, would have sucked royally for him.

Things were different now, though.

“I suppose it was for similar reasoning as to why Tex never said anything.” He heard her mulling contemplatively to herself.  When Carolina noticed that he was looking directly at her again, she added, “To either of us.”

Church frowned, wondering just how close to home that theory was.

Tex had chosen to play a part she didn’t have to, around the both of them.

Church still hated that she’d lied to his fucking face for so long, but perhaps it had been her way of shielding him and Carolina.  Play the role of the crazy ex-girlfriend with anger issues in someone’s memories, all in order to keep them from finding out just how broken they were.

Like Delta had done for a while there too, acting as if Church wasn’t connected to him at all.  Or when Washington had chosen to keep his theory about Church to himself.

“About Tex…” Church winced slightly in anticipation of possibly getting his ass kicked because that was a loaded minefield of a topic to discuss with Carolina, “Do you know that she’s—“

“I was starting to have some suspicions on my own about her, even before this.” She regarded him thoughtfully, “You called her ‘Allison’ a while ago.  Remember?”

Yeah.  That had actually been right around the time when he noticed Carolina starting to look at him oddly.  Church had thought it was strange then, but now that a part of him was Epsilon he understood her behavior better.

Carolina continued: “He never referred to her by anything save code-name.  Everything about her was always classified, even more than the other agents.”

Of course the redhead would have known that.  Given her role as the leader of the Freelancer group, Carolina had access to their files whenever the Director or the Councilor had thought it necessary for her to know personal information about the team.

She shrugged, a faraway look crossing over her features that made the sharp edges and seething anger that was usually present there fade into something akin to hurt instead, “It makes sense now.  Why I was so fixated on beating her.”

There was a slight, soft-of self-deprecating upturning of her lips as she continued without waiting for a response, “I was never able to surpass _her_ either.”

She turned her head sharply away to avoid eye contact, her red hair swaying as she did so.  More than likely, the Freelancer did not enjoy the fact that she had displayed so much vulnerability just then.

Tex had red hair too, now that he thought about it.  The same shade as Carolina.

For a moment, Church wondered if there was some kind of meaning behind it.

“I’m not making any promises, Church,” Carolina continued, turning around again just as suddenly and causing the odd speculations that had started forming in his head to dissipate, “But, if we ever cross paths with her again, I’ll try not to go for the jugular too quickly.”

Well, shit.  That was pretty much the closest thing he’d heard to a milestone in regards to Carolina’s opinion of Tex.  It was certainly more than he’d ever expected to hear.

“Thanks.” Church said, touched but honestly afraid to say more just in case he somehow fucked it up.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat, figuring it was probably best to move away from that topic while it was still on what was probably as a high note as it could get currently and move on to another murky one.

“About killing that one asshole—”

Carolina seemed to be bracing herself for some kind of argument, her green eyes clouding over and her back straightening even more as if she was planning on shooting up over the table at any second to get her point across with fists.

Church hoped his statement would make that a wasted action on her part, “I want to help find him too.”

That caught the redhead off-guard, and she gaped at him in surprise, “You do?”

“Fuck, yeah, I do!” He glowered and clenched his fists tightly together, his anger growing the more vehement his statements became, “That mother fucker needs to pay for what he’s done.  To _all_ of us.”

Not just the Freelancers, but his teammates, and the Fragments…and to Tex too.  There were _way_ too many memories of all of the horrible shit the guy had done for him to even begin counting.

Epsilon’s attempt to kill himself had failed.  Because of that, all of the memories of countless betrayals, of hurt, of anger?  They all remained.

They were things that they’d not only experienced themselves, but witnessed happening to others too.

One man in particular was responsible for _all_ of it.

“Besides,” Church took in a deep breath ( _well, it didn’t do jack shit when you didn’t actually have lungs but it helped center him in a way_ ), and somehow managed a weak smile in Carolina’s direction, “You shouldn’t have to do that alone.”

Making sure the Director paid was important to her as well for equally obvious reasons.  But, he imagined shouldering all of that anger and hurt along with the constant secrecy had probably been taking more of a toll on her than she would ever fully admit.

Surprisingly, Carolina looked oddly touched as she returned his gesture, “Thank you, Church.”

He shrugged, trying to play off all of the heavy talk with a dismissive gesture for both their sakes, “That’s what family is for, right?”

There was a lot that wasn’t said in that simple, nonchalantly asked question that he really didn’t want to dwell too much on because there had been far too much _feeling talk_ already.  After all, he wasn’t Doc, damn it!  Still, Church was relieved to see her give a slight nod in response.

So, they still had that then.  Despite the shitfest that was everything else.

Before Church could suggest some industrial strength cleaner to wipe this weirdly touching moment from their brains and maintain their respective street creds, lo and behold Doc ran into the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the medic began hurriedly at their questioning looks, “But Agent Washington just came back!”

The A.I. let out a breath of relief, “It’s about fucking time.”

As if on cue, Delta materialized in-between them.  Church had wondered where the Fragment had been earlier, but figured he had probably decided to make himself scarce so that Carolina and Church could sort things out.

Delta had apparently used that “hiding away” time as a means to check on the situation himself when Washington had come close enough to the safe house.

“Yes, it seems as if the meeting went as planned.” The miniature green figure informed them after seeing Carolina’s questioning look before turning to Church, “Though it appears as if your team and Agent Washington are already acquainted with three of the Resistance fighters.”

“Really?” Church frowned, pondering that for a moment.

They had only personally met a couple of the Resistance members, and one of those was definitely out of the equation…

“Aw!” Doc pouted slightly at the announcement, “I’d been hoping I could tell Church the good news!”

Delta turned to him, giving an apologetic sort of bow in mid-air, “My apologies.”

Church glared at Doc suspiciously then, noticing the smile still plastered on his face and literal hum that seemed to be emanating from his lips subconsciously.

There was probably only one reason why the cheerful medic seemed even _giddier_ than usual.

“Oh, no.” Dread suddenly filled his very being, and he was pretty sure his brain was going to break again.

“Church?” Carolina was glancing his way, obviously a bit concerned by his reaction.

“It really is a great coincidence, huh?  Who would have thought?” Doc was practically beaming by now, and there was red on his cheeks.

“No, no, no.” If Church banged his robotic head on the wall hard enough, could he maybe still pass out?

A burst of pink came in then, and Franklin Delano Donut was waving ecstatically, “Hey, guys!” The Resistance fighter cheerfully said in way of greeting, “I have to say, I really like the design scheme for this place!  _Very_ original.”

Okay, so Donut being here wasn’t the end of the world.  Church actually thought that the dirty blonde could be tolerable in small doses, so long as he didn’t have to see him and Doc make googly-eyes at each other every single second.  There was way too much love drama shit going on around here already for his taste.

Tucker peeked in behind Donut just then, before stepping into the suddenly getting extremely stuffy space with a rather awkward-looking Washington in tow.

When the dark-skinned Slums resident saw Church staring at him in what could only be described as growing terror, he grinned and actually fucking waved too, “Miss us, asshole?”

Yep, there went the eye-twitch again.  Which was a really weird reaction for him to have since he wasn’t really human, but, eh, Church had more important things to wonder and freak out about than that at the moment.

“Church!  No one said you would be here too!” A blue blur was suddenly racing up to him while talking in a very loud and excited voice, “Oh, I am so glad we got to come to this super-secret party!”

Then Caboose was _hugging_ him and even though Church knew now that he technically didn’t breathe, he felt a growing sense of suffocation building up all the same.

“Oh, _fuck_ no!”

*****

Simmons tried not thinking too much about what was being discussed, rather loudly at that, in the kitchen area.  Largely because the Above Grounder had a feeling it was getting extremely heated judging by the escalated voices and tones.

Besides, regardless of whatever was decided there, the cyborg had already decided for himself what he was intending to do.  Right now, thinking too much on anything was probably _not_ going to keep him from having a panic attack again.

So, instead of taking part in the meeting, Simmons had decided to take a look at some of the weaponry Carolina seemed to have hidden all around the house.

When he had been stressed early on as a soldier, far more times than he would ever care to admit, performing gear maintenance had been one of his favorite calming techniques.

Once, Captain Flowers had even praised him for it.  Though, in light of everything, thinking back on that now made the cyborg feel rather sad.

By taking apart an assortment of guns in order to check and double-check them, before then checking them a third time, Simmons could almost tune out the loud voices.  As well as his doubts, anxiety, and thoughts of Grif.

Fuck, it was even one of the few times when his cybernetic eye wasn’t straining either.

He was briefly aware of Doc and Donut having returned to the living room with Caboose in tow as, apparently, Caboose really wanted to know where the bathroom was.

The little dance he was doing was just as obvious as his really anxious query at the medic, enough so that Donut chided the blonde for a moment about not having gone when they’d switched back into their armor earlier.

Doc and Donut were no doubt going to head off to talk privately elsewhere once they saw the blue-armored young man to his destination, as there were a lot of things the two needed to catch up on.  Their voices sounded eager and cheerful at the prospect, despite how tense things were in the safe house.

Simmons had said hello earlier, and he was more than happy for his glasses-wearing medic friend who had blushed a ton when Donut had gushed over his “lightish-red” frames.  But, the situation sort of hurt in a strange, guilt-inducing way too.  Especially given the knowingly sympathetic look and surprise hug Grif’s younger teammate had given him along with his _“Hang in there, buddy!”_ greeting.

Sheila had apparently decided to show the three previously unknown Resistance fighters around the safe house in the meantime.  They had been introduced to the Above Ground group as Private Palomo and Lieutenants Andersmith and Jensen, and the trio appeared grateful that Sheila’s “tour” gave them an opportunity to switch back into their armor and other gear too.

The last time that he had seen or heard any of them, it had been to listen in on Sheila’s polite inquiry as to how Lopez was doing.

So, it was definitely either do _something_ or get stressed out again thinking too much.  Simmons had already decided that getting upset again wasn’t going to accomplish anything in the long run, so “do something” it was.

“Oh!  Is that one of those new plasma rifles?”

Simmons blinked at the somewhat slurred-sounding inquiry, turning his head from the weapon he had just dismantled on the living room floor to see the female Resistance fighter, Jensen, looking eagerly over his shoulder.

She was smiling, making the retainer in her mouth rather obvious.  _Fuck_ , how old was she?  Because the maroon-trimmed armor she was wearing seemed to be swimming on her.

Donut and Caboose were both younger than he was, and Private Palomo looked to be even younger than them.  But, having a closer look at her, Jensen couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

Why would anyone join a Resistance group that young?

_Probably for a whole shitload of reasons, given the situation in the Slums._

“Er…” Simmons blinked, brain finally registering that someone had actually in fact just talked to him, “Yeah.”

“Awesome!” She was practically drooling now, “We never get them in that kind of condition!”

That’s right.  The redhead had almost forgotten that most of the arms available in the Slums were often older variations that were pretty heavily used and pilfered from Above Ground military, due to the general reluctance of the Council to allow Slums residents easy means to arm themselves.

It was pretty rare to see most people get _that_ excited about weaponry in general though.

“Do you…want to examine it more?” The cyborg asked, hesitatingly.

“Can I?” The brunette pretty much dove onto the ground then without waiting for further confirmation, already running her hands over the various pieces.

The grin transfusing her tanned face almost reminded him of how he probably looked in pictures or recordings when coming across something new or exciting technology-wise for the first time.

“This is definitely brand new!  Never been fired before!” She said as she flipped a piece over.

Her assessment was accurate too.  The kid probably dismantled quite a few weapons in her spare time from the looks of things.

“Want to reassemble it?” He offered, remembering what would have probably made _him_ happy at that age and just going with it.

The girl looked almost sheepish then as she glanced up at him, “I’m not too familiar with this model.” She said nervously, “What if I make a mistake?”

“Then it’s a learning experience.”

That had been one of Captain Flowers’ favorite expressions whenever he or Doc had worried over potentially screwing a training exercise up.  Okay, it was Simmons who had done most of the worrying and who heard it the most if he was being entirely honest.

Still, it was way better than the _“you shouldn’t make mistakes at all”_ bullshit his father had tried coercing him with before he had finally given up on talking to his son altogether when the Above Grounder had been growing up.

“Thank you, sir!” That seemed to be all the encouragement the young lieutenant needed to get started.

There were a few quiet moments following that, with Jensen figuring out where the various components of the rifle went with a look of extreme concentration plastered over her freckled face.  Simmons would nod his head on occasion if she glanced over questioningly just to ensure her she was doing it correctly.

While the younger girl maybe wasn’t as familiar with that particular model, she definitely had practice dismantling and reassembling gear before.

“I watched my dad do this all the time whenever he was home.” She stated when he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask her how she had learned to dismantle technology, his social awkwardness still tending to make starting conversations difficult, “Ended up trying it out myself.”

Simmons nodded his head slightly, figuring that was probably the end of the topic.

She frowned and continued, as if feeling like she needed to elaborate further, “He was in the Resistance before me.”

There was something about the way Jensen phrased that statement, along with the odd look that crossed over her features, which made it fairly obvious why she had used the past tense just then.

Not wanting to pry into what was probably a painful topic, Simmons simply nodded again, “My dad is a soldier.  That’s one of the main reasons I stayed on with it too.”

The cyborg was almost tempted to add _“but he is a fucking asshole”_ after that, but it probably wasn’t fair to throw his personal issues into the face of the girl’s still pretty obvious grief.  He could certainly still sympathize and understand a child wanting to share some aspect of a parent’s life with them.

She regarded him closely then, eyes lingering on his red hair and maroon armor that matched her own trim, “Your name is Simmons, right?”

He blinked in surprise, “How did you…?”

Maybe Sheila or Doc had mentioned names when he wasn’t paying attention earlier.

“I’m friends with Kai!” The lieutenant smiled brightly, “She mentions you sometimes.”

 _That_ was a surprise, “R—really?”

“Yeah,” and, when the girl noticed the sudden loss of color in his face, quickly amended, “Only nice things though.”

Simmons paused, taking in a deep breath before awkwardly asking, “How…has she been doing?”

He was having a hard enough time processing things himself.  He could only imagine what Kai was feeling given how much the Grif siblings had been through together.

Jensen’s face fell at the question, but she quickly skewed a weak smile back on as if to reassure him, “Not great, honestly.  But Volleyball, she’s a teammate of mine, she’s sticking with her.”

The Above Grounder vaguely recalled a pretty blonde girl with Kai that one really awful night at Grif’s when he had quite nearly died of embarrassment.  He wondered if that was the oddly-named Volleyball.

“The rest of us are looking out for her too!” She assured him as well.

He smiled slightly, more than just a little grateful, “I’m glad.”

It sounded like Kai had finally found a good group of friends.  He truly was glad for that: she was a little odd and brusque, but a good kid all the same

Jensen continued looking at him as if puzzling something over though, “Kai did say you were shy around girls though, but I wouldn’t really have gotten that from this conversation.”

“C—come again?” Simmons blinked in surprise, having not noticed that himself until just then.

She was right though.  Normally he was even more of a stuttering mess than normal around women the first time he met them, even with Kai, C.T., and Sheila.  It had taken a whole lot of effort to overcome that with all of them.  But, he hadn’t been any more awkward around Jensen than he normally was in most conversations, now that he thought about it.

It wasn’t the Resistance fighter’s age either.  He was extremely frightened around _all_ women, no matter how young or old they were.  Horrific memories of girls teasing him early on in school would haunt him even when he saw those scouts selling cookies door-to-door.

Before Simmons could become too “aware” of the problem and over-correct it like he usually did once something was drawn to his attention, Jensen interrupted his thought process with a knowing look on her face that seemed to oddly match Donut’s earlier one, “It’s because you’re more worried about Captain Grif now, huh?”

That question definitely stopped him in his tracks like a deer in the headlights, “W-what?”

“It’s okay!  Kai said you guys were pretty much married already.” The younger girl said in an attempt to probably reassure him she wasn’t being judgmental.

The redhead was fairly certain he was going to die of embarrassment right then and there.  For a second, the cyborg couldn’t see anything and he was pretty certain the parts of his face that still had his human skin were very obviously red given how hot all of his face felt suddenly.

“She’s really pulling for you.” Jensen continued, not apparently noticing Simmons’ growing urge to flee from the room as she smiled even more, “All of us are!  Captain Grif is a really nice guy, and you seem like one too!”

“Er—”

The lieutenant had finished assembling the rifle by then.  As he was still in the process of trying to get his mind back into something akin to working order, the brunette held it up for inspection.

“How’s this, sir?”

At least Simmons could focus on something else besides the fact that it sounded like apparently everyone in the Resistance _but_ Grif knew about his feelings by looking at the weapon being proffered out to him.

“You did great.” The redhead gave a slight nod as he looked over her work, though he honestly didn’t even really need to examine it too carefully to know that the kid had done the job correctly.

Jensen beamed, and Simmons returned the expression awkwardly.  He was actually a little envious of Grif and the others in the Resistance now, for getting to help out newer recruits like this on a daily basis.

He wouldn’t have thought that that would have been something he’d enjoy at all given how much pressure it would probably be, but talking to the young lieutenant about weaponry had been oddly enjoyable.  At least, if the Above Grounder wasn’t taking into account the later part of the conversation when he’d been blindsided by the fact that Kaikaina Grif apparently liked to talk about a lot of things with her fellow Resistance friends.

“If Captain Grif is okay, you really should go for it!” Jensen said suddenly, as she was putting the rifle back in the container it had come from before glancing over at him and winking, “Happy ending and all, you know?”

“Um…” His brain was back to shorting out now.

The brunette looked around and whispered conspiratorially, “The next couple of months could be _really_ romantic in particular.”

Suddenly, there was the sound of running footsteps coming towards them and then the aqua-trimmed armored Resistance fighter Simmons knew to be Private Palomo was standing there, an accusatory finger pointed at the girl.

“I heard that!” The dark-skinned rookie declared in a scandalized tone, “That’s cheating, Jensen!”

“It is not!  I was just giving advice on how he should do it sooner rather than later!” She countered, huffing exasperatedly at Palomo’s apparent inability to see her reasoning, “Besides, that doesn’t matter at all anymore if money isn’t involved.”

“It totally still counts as influencing the bet!  Otherwise, I already would have tried playing my patented mood music for Matthews and Bitters!”

Jensen made a face, “Gross!  That hasn’t even worked for you yet!”

“Um, not getting punched _as_ much definitely counts as working.” Palomo countered.

Watching the exchange between the two Resistance rookies, Simmons really was at a total loss as to what was going on.

“B—bet?” The cyborg somehow managed to squeak out with effort, not really all that sure he actually _wanted_ to know the answer to that inquiry.

Thankfully, perhaps for his continued loose grip on sanity, the two younger fighters were now locked in a heated debate about what counted as _actually working_ and what didn’t when it came to mood settings and weren’t paying enough attention to elaborate further.

Still, even after witnessing that…yep, Simmons maybe was still a little envious of Grif and the others.  Oddly enough, despite the earlier embarrassment of a kid like Jensen trying to give him love advice, he felt a bit calmer now.

Grif had _better_ still be alive, damn it.  Not just for his own sake, but for Kai’s and all of his friends’ and teammates’ too.

“Goddamnit, Tucker, if you would just stop and _think_ —!“

There was a loud commotion from somewhere else in the safe house, causing the childish argument between Palomo and Jensen to stop abruptly as a teal-armored soldier burst into the room.

Now that Simmons thought about it, he had kind of stopped paying attention to the background noise of the debate that had been going on for a while in the kitchen.  What with having been engrossed in the conversation with Jensen before, and then dealing with his own confusion and embarrassment on top of the rather loud conversation currently going on between the two younger fighters.

Apparently the meeting had escalated quite a bit since then, judging by the angry look flashing in Tucker’s eyes.

Scanning the living room, Tucker made a bee-line for Simmons with Agent Washington practically only a step behind and looking extremely upset himself.

From the kitchen doorway, the cyborg could spot Carolina, Church, and Delta exchanging looks before following.  Their combined body language was tense and confused.

“Hey, Simmons,” Tucker started without much preamble, the look in his brown eyes was reminiscent of someone desperately trying to find another person to back him up in an argument, “You definitely want to rescue the fat-ass, right?”

“Um…”

The redhead glanced at the alarmed expressions on Palomo and Jensen’s faces.  Palomo had actually grabbed Jensen’s upper arm and hauled her a few steps away from the three older men, apparently more than just a little disturbed at his captain’s actions and the look of frustration on the face of the Freelancer behind him.

From the other hallway, Simmons could make out Doc, Donut, Sheila, Andersmith, and Caboose peering into the room as well.  The sight of their heads peeking cautiously into the space as if afraid there was a live grenade about to go off would have been almost comical in any other situation.

“Come on, dude.  Yes or no?” Tucker’s insistent voice brought him back to the situation at hand.

The cyborg blinked back his confusion, nodding his head emphatically a second later, “Of course I do!”

The dark-skinned man grinned and, to Simmons’ absolute shock, slapped him comradely in the shoulder pretty hard.  The redhead couldn’t stop the not-at-all impressive _“Ow!”_ from slipping out along with an accompanying wince.

“Awesome!” Tucker nodded slightly as if he had just won some argument with himself, “I knew you’d be on board!”

That statement was even more confusing to Simmons, as he was now very much under the impression that he had somehow agreed to something without any idea as to what it actually was.

Which was further confirmed when Agent Washington groaned in frustration, “Tucker!  Of course he’d respond that way when you ask the question like that!”

Tucker snorted derisively, crossing his arms over his chest, “Whatever, dude.  You’re just fucking mad that you’re being outnumbered.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.  At all!” The vein popping up on Washington’s forehead was getting even more pronounced, “You never even mentioned your plan to him!”

“P—plan?” The redhead looked between the two in confusion.

Tucker turned back to Simmons then, nodding his head vigorously, “Look, I want to save my son _and_ my friend.” He confided, “But, so far, all we’ve done is just sit around on our asses and wait.  You know?”

Simmons couldn’t help but nod, understanding well-enough the frustration he could hear in Tucker’s voice.

“These two?” The teal-armored fighter gestured to Washington and Carolina further behind them, “Their idea was to go in by themselves and leave everybody else out to wait some more.”

This had been the first time Simmons had actually even heard that mentioned at all.  He stared at the two Freelancers with a questioning glance, only to be met with silent hesitation that pretty much confirmed Tucker’s statement.

“But, that’s—!”

“Bullshit, right?” Tucker nodded his head in agreement to whatever he thought the cyborg was going to say, before glaring behind him at Washington, “Especially since _someone_ isn’t supposed to be trying to get himself _fucking killed_ after all of the shit he’s pulled.”

Simmons was leaning more towards saying “ _crazy_ ” and how he thought it was unfair to the people who wanted to help, but he supposed that was just semantics. 

“So, your idea is to get _everyone_ involved and potentially killed instead?” Washington’s voice sounded beyond strained.

“It’s not, and you know that!” With how much glaring Tucker was doing at him, Simmons was honestly surprised that Washington hadn’t burst into flames yet, “Two teams of _volunteers_ at each site, while someone else provides a distraction at the main base where those mercenary dicks hang out.”

Tucker grinned before adding, “In particular, someone with a bitching alien sword.”

The Freelancer shook his head, “That’s—“

“It would have a higher percentage of success, Agent Washington.” Delta had appeared next to the blonde, Carolina and Church approaching as well.

“He’s right.  The earlier plan had a lot of risks, and it was pretty much guaranteed that both of us would have been exposed as spies in the process.” Carolina frowned as she spoke up, “I’m not too pleased with the odds of this new one either.  But, if we could avoid losing that tactical advantage entirely _and_ can make sure this all wasn’t a phenomenal waste of time, it could be worth it.”

“Yeah!  What the angry hot chick said!” Tucker nodded his head again in agreement.

Carolina turned to glare holes at the Resistance fighter then, “Say that again and I will _end_ you.”

“What if you die, Tucker?” Washington sighed, looking a bit more defeated now that Delta and Carolina had put in their two cents, “What about Junior then?  Or your friend’s sister?”

Jensen made a strangled noise.  Palomo patted her shoulder awkwardly, apparently not at all sure of what else to do in the situation.  Andersmith, Caboose, and Donut all looked rather ashen-faced at Washington’s inquiries as well.

It made sense, Simmons supposed, given how well all of them knew Grif, Junior, and Tucker.

“I’m not going to just sit around waiting for someone else to do something anymore!” Tucker stated angrily, ignoring the somber air that had fallen over most of the group, “Especially not when Junior, Grif, and just about _everyone_ else can die with everything that’s going on!  Even stubborn, paranoid _assholes_!”

Washington seemed momentarily taken aback at the sudden jab at him.  For a second, there even seemed to be an odd splotch of red across his face, but it dissipated a second later as he shook his head once and let out another sigh, “You getting yourself killed won’t change that.”

Tucker scoffed, “They’re less likely to kill me because of the alien tech.”

The Above Grounder raised a blonde eyebrow, glancing at the sword hilt at Tucker’s side before focusing on his face again, “Not by a very wide margin, Tucker.  I can guarantee that being captured alive wouldn’t be good either.”

“There are two people I know going through that shit already.” The Resistance fighter countered, “Kind of helps further my cause, don’t you think?”

Washington frowned, but was cut off from arguing further by Carolina, “We can prep him with the layout and have an escape plan arranged, Washington.”

The younger Freelancer glared at her, an expression which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest, while Tucker shot her a grateful look.

“Fine.  It doesn’t seem like there’s any way to change your mind at this point.” Washington rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air before fixing the Resistance fighter with a level stare, “I told you that I would help you get Junior back.”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure you dying while doing that wasn’t part of the deal either.” Tucker reminded him, smirking.

Washington muttered something about the other man being impossible to deal with sometimes under his breath, while Tucker turned his attention back to Simmons.

“So, now that you know all of that shit, you still in or what?” The teal-armored soldier asked, sounding like he was almost pleading again, “I have a feeling I won’t have to worry as much about Grif if you’re looking for him.”

For once, Simmons ignored the sudden influx of heat he felt blooming all over his face at the remark and nodded, “Of course!”

Normally Simmons would agonize over even the simplest of choices for hours on end, so this probably one of the easiest decisions he’d ever made.  It was an oddly great sensation, feeling like he had a say in what was happening around him for once.

Especially since it meant he could possibly help Grif too.

“Well, of course, he’d say yes.” He heard Church mutter underneath his breath.

“I’ll help too!” Doc called out, giving an encouraging nod to his maroon-armored friend as he apparently felt it was now safe to step inside the living room.

Donut was right behind him, “Don’t count me out!  I have a whole lot of tosses left in me!”

“Please tell me you’re talking about grenades.” Church looked exasperated at the dirty blonde’s odd phrasing.

“It’s one of those things that’s probably best left to your imagination, dude.” Tucker responded without batting an eye.

“This will be like a party!” Caboose seemed pretty excited himself, “But with explosions!  So, a party run by the red sergeant!”

“Geez, way to remind me of one of the worst birthday parties ever, Caboose.” Tucker shuddered at whatever memory his teammate’s comment had drudged up in his mind.

“ _Pin the Tail Through the Minefield_ was pretty fun.” Caboose looked happily nostalgic just then, before grinning ecstatically, “Oh, I can’t wait to wake up Freckles and tell him!”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to volunteer as well, Captain Tucker.” Andersmith stated, his eyes seemingly shining with admiration at Tucker’s determination.

“It would probably be a good idea to have someone keep a lookout on Caboose for me.” Tucker nodded appreciatively, “Thanks, Andersmith.”

“I want to come too!” Jensen saluted, “If Kai were here, she would definitely go.”

“Count me in!” Palomo seemed just as eager as his two lieutenant teammates at the mission prospect, “Bitters will just have to suck it later that he didn’t get to go on a super-cool rescue!”

“I would like to assist as well.” Sheila added in quietly following the more exuberant declarations from everyone else.

“Goddamn it!  So, is everyone fucking going then?” Church shook his head and sighed while grimacing, “Fine!  I might as well come too.  We can all get blown up together.  It’ll be fucking _awesome_.”

“That’s the spirit, Church!” Doc grinned, and everyone save Carolina and Washington nodded their heads in immediate agreement.

Which was promptly followed by Church giving the entire room the finger: “All of you suck.  I mean it!”

No one really paid much attention to the A.I.’s comment though, especially since the insult lacked any real bite and now there was a plan to focus on and prepare for instead.

Simmons just desperately hoped that they still had enough time to put it into action.

*****

It was an odd sensation, not really knowing how much time had passed since he got there.  Or, really, not even knowing where “there” was exactly.

Dexter Grif had been out of it for a good long while following the concussion-y encounter with that asshole Felix’s.  He only remembered vague flashes of various oh-so-helpfully nondescript sights that all sort of began blurring together into one jumbled mess after a certain point.

Given that the Slums resident wasn’t even all that familiar with the terrain on the surface of the planet to begin with, and things like map specs and holographic displays could only help prep you so much when you were preoccupied with all sorts of other preparations, he was pretty much hopelessly lost.

All Grif really knew about the place he was at now was that Donut would have probably described the cold, empty room with its metal walls as _“sparse at best”_.  He even imagined hearing the words in his teammate’s cheerful voice and was surprised at how that kind of _hurt_ in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The Resistance fighter was also fairly certain that the red splotches on the floor had probably come from him and weren’t just creative paint choices, which would have also been something he imagined Donut having some kind of opinion on if he were around.  Never could keep the lightish-red soldier quiet when it came to opinions about interior decorating, no matter how much one tried.

Those types of observations really only occurred in the more lucid moments he would occasionally have anyways.

In reality?  The most that Grif was aware of currently was the _pain_.

 _Everything_ felt like it hurt.  Even in that weird, out-of-it haze he kept slipping into where it felt like everything that was happening to him seemed to be occurring from somewhere far away.

When he was experiencing that strange mindset, Grif could almost, _almost_ fool himself into thinking that the blade’s edge was slicing down into someone else’s skin now that it had become such a constant.  Could almost imagine that the thrumming sound of something with a charge wasn’t going to be followed through with searing pain seconds later, the type of pain that would almost certainly make him black out for a few seconds with flashes of white against his eyeballs.

It all sort of became a dull constant that more or less kept its presence annoyingly _there_.

In the back of his mind, the tan-skinned man could almost hear Simmons’ voice explaining something about how that was some kind of coping mechanism for extreme duress.  The kind that happened when the body underwent intense pain in a short amount of time.

When that happened, Grif couldn’t help but almost simultaneously tear up and smile despite how much it hurt given that his lip was pretty nastily split by this point.  It figured that even in his hallucinations, his redheaded friend would always have to try to show-off his nerd tendencies.

Of course, while in a way perhaps that whole coping mechanism bullshit was helping numb a little bit of what was going on, Grif hated that it even slipped into the strange snippets of memory he would have whenever he blacked out for a while.  Those memories became twisted, warped nightmares that he had to witness and could do nothing to prevent.

_A vision of Kai smiling as a little girl suddenly became her crying after their parents left, and he couldn’t do anything about it._

_Level One was_ burning _.  Tucker’s mom was dead.  There were guns going off in the distance.  He couldn’t_ breathe _._

_Matthews and Bitters were still out there, running.  He hadn’t bought them enough time.  Sarge went down fighting.  Right after Caboose, Donut, and everyone else he’d met in the Resistance._

_Tucker never found Junior, but met up with a bullet instead.  Kai wasn’t even able to yell at him for leaving her again._

_The bomb went off.  None of it had mattered a fucking thing anyway._

_Simmons was the one to finish him off, while the rest of the redhead’s team watched in the background.  They were being held up by the mercenaries too.  Simmons cried when he did it, and that was the one thing that stuck with Grif when he was finally able to just let go.  A scene that would torment him so he’d never have peace._

Those nightmarish images were stupid and did nothing but make Grif cry out even more the next time a cut was made into his skin or a punch was thrown at him.  They were just memories of things that had happened in the past, of things that hadn’t happened and hopefully wouldn’t.  But, they felt so damn _real_ it was hard to get it to stick in his mind that it had all been fake whenever he did finally become more lucid.

Odds were very good, Grif kept trying to tell himself, that he’d never see any of them again.  As long as none of that “future” shit actually happened that should be okay.  But, even that was a lie, since _fuck_ he didn’t want to _not_ see anyone again.

He wanted to see them _all_ again, the people in his life like Tucker, Kai, and Simmons.

Grif saw the red pooling below him just then as he opened one eye a miniscule bit for a second, and the sudden thought of _maroon armor slick wet with crimson_ that presented in his tired brain made him want to vomit.

It was actually terrifying, thinking that this wasn’t even the worst things could get.  His mind was definitely working overtime to make sure he fucking knew that before he died.

Seriously, why couldn’t it just be as lazy as it usually was when it actually mattered?

“Fuck.” A voice spoke up from somewhere to his left as he became slightly aware of the sparsely decorated space again, “Did you kill him?”

It was a woman’s voice, dispassionate and uncaring.  He vaguely recalled one of those asshole mercenaries who had shown up to collect him from the initial battlefield sounding like that.

Way too many of those dicks in steel and green for his taste on top of just the regular asshole Above Ground military types.  At least if those guys had found him first they would have probably been quick about it and not even bothered with the torture bullshit.

“No, of course not.” The male voice belonged to the guy who had, for as long as he’d stepped into this room, been trying way too fucking hard in Grif’s opinion to imitate Felix’s knife work.

The Resistance fighter almost wanted to ask why he bothered, since Grif was fairly certain given how some of the cuts had been handled that the guy was a pretty sloppy study.

The male voice scoffed at the question, “Felix said he wanted to finish off the interrogation himself once Locus came to question the guy.  I am not _that_ stupid.”

Evidently, the other voice wasn’t too sure about that, “Yet cutting him up like some jigsaw puzzle until he’s not even with it enough to answer questions seemed like a smart move to you?”

There was a pause in the conversation there.  Grif was almost tempted to try to force open his eyes to see what was happening, but if they knew he was slightly more with it than they currently thought the situation could fall back to a whole lot of pain pretty damn quickly.

Besides, at this moment, he was severely lacking the energy or drive to do so.  The last couple of times he’d tried to open his eyes it was really blurry, and often he ended up seeing more hallucinations.

The feel of something wet and warm running down his face and most of his other body parts wasn’t exactly encouraging him to open his eyes for a look either.

“I’ll admit I might have gotten a little carried away there.” Asshole Dude conceded, before taking on an almost whining tone, “But, _come on_!  It’s been way too long since we’ve actually had a _live_ prisoner on our hands.”

Good to know he was special.

Grif wondered if that was something he could ever shove in Sarge’s face later.  Or would it count as way too sad to do so?  The crazy old man would probably find some way to insult the orange-armored fighter over it regardless, or just try shooting him himself to make up for the misguided strategy of the enemy.

Scarily enough, the chubby Resistance fighter would definitely have preferred that to _this_.

Thinking that he’d never again get threatened by his deranged commanding officer was just as devastating as thinking that he would never hear Donut’s designing tips again or hear Lopez say something no one could ever remotely figure out once more.

Which was actually _really_ fucking sad.

“That’s true.” For as uninterested as she sounded in the outcome of this conversation, the female could have just as easily been talking about an advertisement she was indifferent towards.

There was another lull in the conversation, as if the two were both contemplating something.

Grif thought he must have slipped into unconsciousness for a few seconds during that time because _he was fairly certain he had seen Kai crying again._

_Suddenly he felt like he was trying to climb up the rafters as he had attempted a while after the massacre, and he just couldn’t get air into his lungs and he was shaking too hard to properly grip the ladder rungs._

_Then Simmons was mentioning somewhere close by his ear that he really wished that Grif had his fucking helmet on again as that slow-ass lift was moving upwards._

The Resistance fighter never did seem to have the stupid thing when it mattered, though in Grif’s defense this time it was due to it being broken and subsequently removed than his own absentmindedness.

_Which then got him envisioning the lanky cyborg nerd standing there and lecturing him about all sorts of ridiculous things that really didn’t matter given what was going on._

_He could hear Simmons going on and on about how many germs Grif was probably getting exposed to due to open wounds, about how the whole place would probably need disinfectant due to all the blood, about how he really shouldn’t be taking things so lightly as to keep blacking out, and how…yeah, early on, giving someone the finger had probably not helped anything in the long run._

It kind of sucked that Grif didn’t have the energy to come up with an imaginary retort in his head.

But, all the same, he had to fight the urge to smile about how incredibly dumb a thing that was to imagine at this time.  His face hurt too much to do that currently though, plus he was fairly certain a pained grimace would make it pretty known he wasn’t still completely knocked out.

Still, Grif had always liked that he and Simmons could argue about that kind of stupid shit while still being happy.

The Slums resident was learning right now that he took a whole lot of things about his interactions with the people in his life for granted, and he really wished he wasn’t.

“Maybe the blood loss will make him disoriented enough to let things slip, though?” The knife guy asked hopefully.

Despite hallucination-Simmons’ earlier lecture on how that had not helped before, if Grif would have been able to move his limbs just then he _so_ would have given them two extended middle fingers.

“Maybe.” She sounded doubtful, “Let’s let him bleed for a bit and then try the shocks again.”

Oh, goodie.  That was something to look forward to.

Seriously, it was actually pretty unnerving how much he honestly missed Sarge’s threats by this point.

“Judging by how fat he is, maybe just withholding food for a while would do the trick.” The male joked back.

Now they were being emotionally cruel on top of everything.  Fat jokes were one thing, and he was actually pretty damn used to them, given how often he was called a “fat-ass” by his friends and family. 

It was probably a fucking _miracle_ that Felix had been called away on some hidden secret agenda after Grif had been captured.  That mercenary asshole definitely knew which personal buttons would hurt the most to push given how much time he had spent working undercover with the Resistance before, and he certainly loved his mind games along with killing things.

Grif was honestly having enough of that with his own garbled thoughts and pain-induced hallucinations to last him several lifetimes.

“With how fat he is?  That could take months.” The female shot back with a scoff of her own, “As long as he doesn’t die in the next couple of hours Locus should be able to get out any info he has.”

Weird, to almost wish he would just slide into the sleep that was warring with the pain in his body right now.  If Grif simply didn’t wake up again, then none of this would matter and everyone he knew and cared for would probably be a lot better off.

 _But, then he was running again.  Smoke was burning his lungs.  There was gunfire.  The Resistance.  And Tucker, and Kai, and Simmons, and_ everything _…_

Grif was not only in a shitload of pain, but he was terrified too as the voices faded into indistinct noise again.  Who knew what was going to happen now?

All he really knew was that everything just fucking sucked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Well, lots of dialogue and planning. Hopefully it all made sense and wasn’t too rushed or anything! I ended up finally going into what Grif’s been up to (kind of) in that last part, even though that could basically be summed up as “not too great,” orz.
> 
>  
> 
> So, I tried to throw in lots of shipping moment hints in this chapter even if it was a case of some characters not being reunited yet and everything. Sorry about that though, as I had originally planned on extending this chapter quite a bit. But, it sort of ended up developing a life of its own and I realized it would have been nightmarishly long and taken even longer to release if I had gone with my initial plan. 0_0; 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, finally got in a little Jensen and Simmons bonding moment too: a little bit of a surrogate father/daughter situation there (and, yep, she’s right there with Kai on being a big Grimmons supporter too ♥). I kind of felt bad that he was the only captain who hadn’t interacted with his lieutenants yet, orz. Hopefully, the more light-hearted interactions still felt like they had a place given how serious things have gotten, and I hope explained a few more of the things that I’d brought up minimally in the last chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Next up is finally the rescue plan, a bit more pairing stuff all around, and a big reunion moment! ♥ I just hope I can do it all justice, haha. …And there’s still quite a bit left to do following that as we get closer to the finish!  
> Thank you, as always, for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

“Just for the record, this all totally sucks.”  The young Resistance private named Palomo complained loudly behind Washington.

The Above Grounder couldn’t help but mirror the eye-rolls that Lieutenants Andersmith and Jensen were no doubt giving in response to that remark, at least judging by how their helmets slightly tilted in Palomo’s direction the moment the words were out of his mouth.

It was all the more annoying to the blonde considering that it was probably the fifth such comment he had heard in little under an hour.

“In what way?” Donut asked conversationally, and it was easy enough to imagine a large grin plastered on the Resistance fighter’s face underneath his helmet, “I think this is nice and cozy!”

Hankering down in what was essentially a cramped storage shed outside of a military installation wasn’t what Washington would describe as anything remotely “nice and cozy,” especially not with six people inside a space that smelled like it usually held nothing but fertilizer.  Definitely wouldn’t have been his first choice for a stakeout location himself, but beggars really could not be choosers.

The location was ideal due to being close enough to where the base was, but outside of its security systems.  Sneaking in would definitely be easier from here.  Not to mention, it was never used in the later hours of the day, so there would be no unsuspecting groundskeepers from the nearby shopping district winding up with concussions, or worse, from happening upon them.

The gardening supplies were taking quite a bit of space of the shed, which meant the group had to utilize some pretty creative maneuvering to fit everyone inside and out of view of the small windows located near the ceiling of the building.

Jensen and Donut both hunkered down on top of crates that hadn’t been too highly stacked up as the two were of slightly smaller stature than the others in the group.  Luckily for them, they didn’t have to contend with jostling over what little room there was left on the floor.

Poor Caboose in particular looked incredibly hunched over and squished.  Washington felt sympathy towards the young man, given how he was personally cramping up from the lack of movement and awkward positioning as well.

Rather surprisingly though, the blue-armored fighter hadn’t even complained once, which the older soldier was impressed by.

“I meant about that message Captain Tucker sent out earlier.” Palomo stated in response to Donut’s remark, “I wanted to send a shout-out to Bitters!”

“Telling him to ‘ _Suck it!_ ’ because he didn’t get to be on a rescue mission doesn’t count as a shout-out, Palomo.” Andersmith replied, the easily pictured frown forming on his face was rather evident in the older lieutenant’s voice.

“Ah, see, that would have only been a part of it!” Palomo mumbled in his defense, “I mean, maybe if he knew we were going to try to rescue Captain Grif he would feel better.  Him and Matthews!”

“Kai too.” Jensen added quietly from her perch.

Palomo nodded at the girl’s comment, “Yeah!”

Washington frowned as he listened to the heavy discussion suddenly taking place, not sure what to make of their conversation.

“That message was meant to inform your group’s leader of the phenomenal risk all of you are choosing to take.” He reminded them, “I doubt it will be shared with anyone else in the event that this turns into a worst case scenario.”

The Freelancer imagined it was better to not get hopes up, or cause even more worry and fractures within the Resistance, as a direct result of the actions of a group of volunteers.

The Above Grounder had argued with Tucker _a lot_ on account of this plan regarding many different issues, but Washington at least understood where the younger man had been coming from in regards to the private message he had sent to Resistance leader Vanessa Kimball beforehand.

“Besides,” Andersmith stated in the thoughtful aftermath of Washington’s comment, “I still don’t think that would count as a shout-out.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s right about that!” Donut nodded his head in agreement with the blue-trimmed lieutenant, “A shout-out is just you mentioning someone, isn’t it?”

“I thought it was when you shouted outside.” Caboose spoke up, sounding very confused over the topic.

They were seriously not going to get into a debate about what a ‘ _shout-out_ ’ was during a stakeout, were they?  Sighing, Washington counted to three quietly in his mind.

“Let’s focus on the mission, all right?” The blonde finally managed to get out with some patience, as he noticed that Palomo had just taken in a sharp intake of breath as if to add his own two cents on the subject, “Or we could just be quiet for a little while.”

“Oh!  You mean like the Quiet Game?” Donut asked.

“Is that an actual thing?” Jensen sounded curious as she glanced back-and-forth between Donut and the Freelancer.

_I really hope so._

“Yes, exactly.  The Quiet Game would be perfect right about now.” Washington answered Donut.

“Oh, I am the best at the Quiet Game!” Caboose declared, “I always win.”

“That’s great, Caboose.” Washington nodded his head at the young man, hoping maybe this would temporarily help matters at least.

“I am also the best at the Shouting Game!” The younger man was cheerfully talking now, evidently believing that the Quiet Game had not officially started yet, “Though Tucker doesn’t like it when you play that one too much.”  Caboose’s voice took on a conspiratorial whisper, “He is a sore loser.”

 _Oh, for the love of—!_   No wonder Delta was currently making himself scarce in Washington’s armor storage compartment.  The Above Grounder could definitely understand now why Carolina had insisted on going with her “cousin” and his team instead.

Truth be told, he wasn’t all that comfortable with the idea of leading a group of more inexperienced fighters.  Still, considering Florida’s team’s track record, the difference between the groups was perhaps negligible in a lot of ways.  Most of the volunteers had little in the way of actual combat experience, regardless of how the groups were split.

Given some of the dialogue floating around him currently, Washington imagined working with this particular group would have been a huge trial for Carolina’s nearly nonexistent patience.

Not that he could blame them for wanting to fill the time with banter.  Despite their eagerness before when it came to volunteering and the preparation for the mission, they all knew how much of a risk they were taking.

In a way, the odd and often mind-boggling chatter was helping to even distract Washington a bit from the troubling amount of worry he was feeling.  He was anxious not only about this group’s particular role in things, but for the other two teams as well.

Theta and Tucker would be going into action very soon.  If something were to happen to the stubborn moron and all of this ended up being for nothing—

“Agent Washington?” Caboose spoke up just then, and Washington felt momentarily grateful for the distraction from the descending spiral of fear he’d already gone down far too many times to count.

“Yes, Caboose?” The blonde sighed, noticing that Caboose was holding up his hand as if he was asking his teacher a question.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, shoot!  Now that he’s said it, I do too!” Palomo suddenly chimed in afterwards, frantic-sounding, “I can’t stop thinking about it!”

…Well, that grateful feeling didn’t last terribly long.

*****

Tucker took in a deep breath, inwardly bracing himself and trying desperately to calm the very large bundle of nerves that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the pit of his stomach.

If the teal-armored soldier was completely honest with himself, he was failing miserably at it.

Because, yeah, he could _talk_ a big game and he knew this plan had been better than the stupidly suicidal one that that asshole Washington and the angry redhead had come up with. 

If he lived through this, Tucker would have to tell York he had been right about the redheaded Freelancer as well.  She was _just as fucking scary_ as Tex!

The brunette also could have mentioned that Carolina was not at all fond of flirting either, which became painfully obvious given how quickly his shoulder had nearly been ripped out of its socket when he tried it on her right after bringing up his plan.  Seriously though, _“Hey, baby, is it smokin’ hot in here or is it just you?”_ was _classic_!  Who couldn’t appreciate that?  It didn’t help that that fucker Church just laughed his ass off when it happened and Washington did a whole _“I warned you”_ bit.

Tucker’s shoulder still kind of hurt, like a reminder of how mind-boggling crazy his plan was.  Since he was being completely honest with himself right now, the dull throbbing pain was also a reminder that he wasn’t nearly as confident on the whole _“odds are good they won’t kill me because I have a bitching alien sword”_ thing as he had managed to play up earlier.

But, because his acting was _that_ good, he totally sold it anyways.

In the end though, the Resistance fighter had to believe that this _was_ the best chance they would have to save the fat-ass and Junior.  Not to mention also stopping Hargrove later on too.  Having more people meant there were better chances of success all around, no matter how freakishly strong Freelancers might be.

If potentially dying meant getting his son out of this mess in particular, he’d do it.  Tucker wasn’t about to let a friend get killed off either if he could avoid it.  Kai shouldn’t have to cry any more than she already had.

So, here he was, getting ready to jump out of a crate that somehow Carolina had “procured.”  It had originally been meant to contain a shipment of weapons for the weird-as-all-fuck-named-for-a-base Mother of Invention.

The less Tucker knew about the bloodstains he had seen Carolina absentmindedly wiping away from the crate with her hand before she stated with no room for argument that he was to _get in and shut up_ , the better.

It had been hours since then.  Judging by all of the jostling he had gone through, and how that had stopped a while ago, Tucker was fairly certain he had been delivered to the base by now.

Above Ground military was either so smugly complacent with the idea that no one would mess with them that they never bothered checking shipments immediately, or their security was just lazy as fuck.

Either way, it had worked out pretty well for him.  Though he had kept his sword on hand all the same because, _fuck it_ , who knew when that would change?  The Slums dweller almost _wished_ some asshole would open the lid and blow his cover a little early by this point.

The crate was pretty big, and there had easily been enough room made for him by taking some shit out.  The grenades the crate had once held would definitely not go to waste with Donut, and Tucker was more than just a little relieved that the explosives hadn’t been in there with him during the rather shaky transport ride for rather obvious reasons.

Still, he had been in a not-so-comfortable crouching position for a while.  His legs, back, and neck were cramping up pretty badly now.  First thing he was going to do when he got out was stretch.

“It won’t be much longer, Mr. Tucker.” The young-sounding voice of the A.I. Fragment called Theta spoke up just then.

Suddenly, there was a shimmer right in front of him, and the miniature purple figure came into view.

Even though the whole A.I. thing had been more or less explained to him, seeing Theta appear still took Tucker by surprise.  To be honest, he hadn’t paid as much attention to all of the A.I. explanation as he should have anyways given how wordy it had been.

The “kid” had made himself scarce ever since they had stepped into the hideaway.  But, given how they were supposed to keep quiet, Tucker could understand why that was.  Honestly, they had only really just been introduced to each other around twenty minutes before the mission on account of Theta _recharging_ or something.

Church had been grimacing even more than usual when it came to explaining what happened to Theta earlier, and everyone else on his team had gone quiet. So, Tucker guessed there was a whole lot more to that than the A.I. Fragment just needing a “kiddie nap.”

Also, the A.I. seemed really shy.  Tucker was honestly kind of surprised he had chosen to initiate a conversation now at all.

“Thanks.” The Resistance fighter narrowed his eyes as if that would somehow magically help him see through a metal crate, which it did not, “Are we even at the right place?”

Theta nodded slightly, “Yes, we are inside the Mother of Invention’s storage facility.”

Good.  So far, that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about or alter plans for.

“Anyone around?”

“Not in the storage area.” The purple figure flickered out of sight for a moment, as if he was checking on something, “There are guards stationed outside though.”

Well, at least Tucker really would be able to stretch before taking some assholes out.  He just needed to make sure _he_ didn’t get taken out before the alarm was triggered.

Theta was with him to help monitor his back and, hopefully, guide him along the escape route when it was time to leave.

Tucker was relieved to have _some_ kind of assistance considering it improved his odds a bit in unfamiliar territory, however he noted something odd about the A.I.’s mannerisms: “You don’t seem too happy to be here.”

Tucker felt slightly guilty at the realization.  Maybe they had forced Theta to tag along, and he hadn’t even realized it before now because he had been too preoccupied.  In which case, the Slums dweller was going to feel like a pretty big asshole when it was all said and done.

“Um, n—no!  It’s not that, Mr. Tucker!” Theta frantically waved his tiny hands in front of him, apparently embarrassed by the observation.

“You don’t have to call me ‘Mister’ all the time.” Tucker added in, trying to go for a joke to lessen Theta’s sudden anxiety spike, “I’m not _that_ old yet.”

“R—right.  Sorry.  It’s just…I haven’t been back here in a while.” The purple-armored Fragment’s shoulders slumped, and he seemed to further shrink in on himself the more he continued his explanation, “Not since North was…”

 _Oh, shit._   Tucker had almost forgotten that North had mentioned a “Theta” before, often with an odd sort-of sad smile on his face when he had did something nice for Junior.

He should have put two-and-two together earlier.  After all, he had known that Delta had been York’s partner right away.

Judging by how upset recalling the last time he had been at the Mother of Invention was for Theta, Tucker had a sneaking suspicion even with the Fragment trailing off that he had most likely been referring to when North had been shot.

“He’s doing fine now.” He told him reassuringly, giving the A.I. Fragment the same smile he gave to Junior when trying to cheer him up even though he knew Theta couldn’t see it because of his helmet.  Well, maybe he could.  Who knew how the fuck A.I.s saw things?

The purple figure nodded his head quickly, “I know.”

Right.  That figured.  Washington and the others would have no doubt mentioned North was alive already if Theta had asked.

“He talks about you all the time, you know.” Tucker stated quietly, noticing the uneasy silence that had filled the crate and wondering if Theta wasn’t worrying about something along those lines.

A.I. or not, he did appear very childlike and innocent.

If someone were talking to Junior about him, well, that would be what _he_ would want them to say even if Tucker wasn’t able to be there to do so himself.

“Really?” Theta seemed to perk up slightly.

Tucker nodded, the top of his helmet hitting the roof of the crate with the motion, “North misses you a ton.” He told him, “Always talks about how you would get along great with Junior.”

“He’s your son, right?” Theta seemed to be coming out of his shell a bit more now due to all of the talk about North, “One of the people we’re trying to rescue?”

“Yeah.  That’s right.” He couldn’t help but grin, “Once we’re done here, a little reunion is in store, huh?”

Theta nodded eagerly, and Tucker made a mental note that he was going to try his fucking hardest to ensure that he hadn’t just bullshitted the kid.

Losing Theta again would definitely not be cool to North either.

“Tucker?”

From the sound of his voice, it seemed as if Theta was struggling to not add “Mister” just then.  The Resistance fighter smiled slightly.  North had been right about him being a good kid.

“Yeah?” Tucker was hoping that the A.I. Fragment’s question was about what the timer in his armor display had just told him.

“It’s time.”

Yep.  There it was.

“Fuck yeah!” He couldn’t resist exclaiming as all of his pent-up excitement and fear had been about to make him jump out of the crate, and that would really have not been a good thing to do until the lid was open at least.

Theta disappeared into the crate itself, and there was a distinctive click a moment later indicating that the lock had been disengaged.  The disappearing was seriously another aspect about Artificial Intelligences that would take some getting used to.

Tucker warily opened the lid despite the assurances from earlier that no one was inside the storage area.  You could never be completely certain some guys wouldn’t just decide to come back from a coffee break the second they had finished their heart-to-heart conversations to check things out once more, after all.

Thankfully, though, Theta’s earlier assessment was still accurate.  The large warehouse-like space was filled with crates nearly identical to the one they had snuck in, but devoid of people.

He could stretch to his heart’s content then.  _Fucking yes!_

As he did just that to his aching body’s immense relief, Tucker looked around at the stacked boxes around them, grateful that apparently new shipments were placed in the center of aisles individually most likely for later inspection of their contents.

It would have fucking _sucked_ if they had been stuck inside the crate because some asshole had decided to stack shit on top of it.  He shuddered slightly, having not really thought of that all too plausible reality until he was looking at how high up a lot of the shipping crates were piled.

Theta reappeared next to him, and Tucker nodded his head gratefully in his direction, “You ready?”

The A.I. tilted his head slightly in the affirmative, though he paused a second later, “Um, about your armor’s storage unit, Mr. Tucker—”

“Remember, no ‘Mister’!” He reminded him, not really paying that much attention to Theta’s remark as he stretched his arms.  About two more seconds of that, and he could get this whole thing underway, “What about it?  You have enough room, right?”

Tucker honestly wasn’t sure how much space tiny digital people took up, now that he thought about it.  He imagined it was a shitload more than just a regular computer program.

“O—oh, no!  It was fine!” Theta was quick to reassure him, “I was just curious…about all of the video files you have on it.”

 _That_ gave Tucker pause.

“…Video files?”

Oh, _shit_.  If those were what he thought they were…

“North kept some skateboarding and firework ones for me on his.” Theta went on innocently, completely unaware of how suddenly rigid Tucker had become, “Do you…save files for Junior too?”

_Well, only for when it was time to have a serious discussion about the birds and the bees._

Which, hopefully, wouldn’t be for a damn long while because watching Grif try to have that awkward discussion with Kai when she was little had been more than enough mental scarring for him.

Now Tucker was just kicking himself that he had forgotten about those until just now, as he was pretty sure he’d been intending to delete them at some point.

“You didn’t…” He winced and stopped talking for a second, dreading the answer to the question he was about to ask since _that_ discussion with Junior was going to be painful enough and he really didn’t want to have one with Theta just before he very possibly got himself killed, “Watch them or anything, did you?”

Theta shook his head emphatically, “It isn’t polite to not ask first.”

The dark skinned man let out a sigh of relief.  He was definitely going to have to make a better mental note to get rid of those later.

“Hey, um, can you do me a favor and _not_ tell North about those?” Tucker swallowed nervously, “They’re personal.”

The childlike Fragment nodded, and Tucker was really grateful he was innocent enough to not question things further, “I won’t look either.  I promise!”

That was a major relief.  Tucker had a feeling that, friendly and polite as the former Freelancer was, North would have probably murdered him had this whole matter played out differently.

Given what he was about to do for his own son, he could understand the sentiment.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, his sword suddenly flaring to life in his hand as he made his way to the double-doors that seemed to serve as the exit, “Now let’s stir up some crazy-ass shit!”

They only had a few seconds before things really hit the fan once they got outside, he knew.  Tucker was going to make sure they fucking counted, which was exactly what he ended up doing.  The Resistance fighter pretty much hit the ground running the second both he and Theta exited the storage area.

A lot of what followed initially was more or less a blur in his brain, given the frantic pacing he had to keep up the second he had incapacitated the warehouse guards and a very loud alarm starting blasting out over the grounds.

A hell of a lot of _swish-swish, stab-stab_ that was broken up by intermittent rounds of duck-and-cover.  Then there was more swishing and stabbing.

If Caboose had been there, he could just imagine his teammate making the whole thing into some kind of hide-and-seek game variation. 

Tucker was oversimplifying a lot in his mind, he knew.  There was a shitload more that was going on in all of the intervals of killing and trying to not get killed.  He was, to a degree at least, trying to still follow a sort-of plan even if he was adlibbing a lot of shit with every second to avoid getting shot or cornered.

The teal-armored soldier was always keeping an ear out for the chatter that Theta was throwing his way about where to turn, or when someone was heading their way that he hadn’t spotted yet.  But, it was all easier to process and it prevented his brain from delving into _“Oh fuck, you were a major dumbass for doing this in the first place!”_ thoughts if he wasn’t dwelling a ton on things.

When your strategy could essentially be summed up as _causing a huge ass distraction by storming an enemy base practically all on your own_?  Yeah, it was probably a good idea to not think on just how fucking crazy it was when you were setting it into motion.

Truth be told, causing a huge explosion at the storage area he had been dropped off in before racing away from there after the alarms sounded had done wonders to draw even more attention to himself.

He had to thank Grif’s husband and Jensen for those bombs, as they were definitely less likely to explode if jostled than the grenades they’d removed from the crate earlier had been.

Following that?  Well, as Carolina had said, the trick would be to remain more or less hidden-but-seen at the same time.  Pop out, and do some damage quickly.  Let the Above Grounders _know_ someone was there, but try to keep them guessing on just how many people they were dealing with.

It was a solid tactic.  One that Kimball had even often implemented with good results quite a few times when there was heavier fighting underground in order to divert attention to the tunnels and not the Slums.

Though, admittedly, it was a bit trickier to do when you knew a fucking place had surveillance out the wazoo.

Which was definitely why having Theta around was fucking awesome.  The childlike Fragment already had extensive knowledge of the Mother of Invention’s layout.  He was capable of guiding Tucker to the weak spots in its security grids, while they caused a lot of general havoc on their way to the main goal.

The Resistance fighter didn’t have time to ponder things more, as they had just lost track of a persistent crowd of pissed off mercenaries and Above Ground soldiers through a small, way-too-easy-to-get-pinned inside corridor on one of the lower levels of the base itself.

It was not exactly Tucker’s favorite idea to head to an area where escape would prove extremely difficult if he happened to get cornered.  But, it would definitely be worth the risk if everything worked out.

Thankfully, Theta’s assessment that the area they exited out into would be of very low priority during an attack proved accurate.

No one in their right mind contemplating potential “hit and run” strategies would probably think a floor of a military base designed for training would be a main target for an attacker.  Especially with all of the rather tempting and fancy state-of-the-art equipment and technology that would be housed in other areas of a facility as large and notorious as the Mother of Invention.

All the better for the two of them, really, considering that was one very massive flaw buried within that “obvious” logic.

It seemed they had opened a door into a monitoring area.  There was a clear wall, no doubt comprised of something very near in-destructible, overlooking a large plain room with metal walls down below.  The room was empty for the most part, save for a few tables off to the side here and there.

“So, it’s all holographic then?” Tucker gazed down with narrowed eyes, trying to picture what type of training even occurred here.

There were regular soldiers stationed at the Mother of Invention, like Church and his group, but also crazy-ass scary super soldiers like the Freelancers as well.  He imagined training methods for both types of soldiers varied greatly.

Whatever technology they had at their disposal in the mining tunnels for training purposes had been more or less cobbled together by Sarge from bits and pieces he had acquired over the years, and what they scrounged from black market deals or from enemy combatants.

Truthfully, a lot of it _was_ fucking impressive where Sarge’s involvement in particular was concerned.  The Holo-Grifs and that whole area in general had been a pretty big surprise, and everyone was still scratching their heads around how the crazy old guy had managed to inexplicably create a goddamned moat.

But, this whole floor was on a completely different level.  Even with everything powered down as it was now.

Tucker could literally _feel_ with this whole space that a hell of a lot of money had been thrown at it.  Just being here felt odd, somehow, given that.

“More or less.” Theta told him in response to his earlier question, “Sometimes they’ll bring in real props and weapons for simulations though.”

The tiny figure’s attention was already on what they had come here for: the equally expensive-looking, and all sorts of shiny, computer terminals that were used to initiate training programs in the massive room below while monitoring the results.

“You’re positive you can use these terminals to deactivate the surveillance systems everywhere?” Tucker asked the Fragment, still unsure as to how that would even work despite already having it explained to him earlier.

Theta gave a quick nod, “These terminals are linked to the main computers for the base, so that higher ranked people like the Director could monitor training still even if they couldn’t come down here to physically observe sessions.”

“To help give progress reports and shit, in other words.” Tucker summarized.

Well, that made some sense to him at least.  This whole base was a major investment of military and government resources, given not just the regular military proceedings that went on here but the top-secret experimental stuff too.  Higher ups in the food chain no doubt would want to make sure all that effort wasn’t going to waste.

“So do I…what?” Tucker asked the floating figure nearby, “Press some buttons, or set a bomb or something?”

The Slums dweller wasn’t incredibly knowledgeable about how computers worked.  So long as his porn downloaded okay and he could check his messages, he was pretty good.  But, something told him there would be a lot more to disabling the surveillance stuff inside the base.

“Leave it to me, Mr. Tucker!”

The kid seemed so eager to help, which was amazing considering he had done more than enough already and then some.  Tucker didn’t even have it in him to try correcting the overly polite address Theta had again used.

Not that he would have had much of a chance to do so, given how Theta disappeared into the row of terminals about two seconds later.  Which left Tucker with nothing to do but wait on edge for the A.I. to finish up with whatever techno-magic he was doing in there.

The teal-armored soldier frowned, noticing that the heavy-looking metal double-doors in the training area below had slid open _just_ as he had begun wondering whether or not the transparent wall would be equally transparent to someone happening to look _into_ the monitoring space.

The Resistance fighter swore.

Tucker had only barely registered the all-too fucking familiar sight of steel and orange before dropping to the floor, praying that he had been quick enough to dive under the cover of the computers positioned underneath the window so that he hadn’t been spotted himself.  His breath caught in his throat.

Of all the fucking things he _really_ hadn’t wanted to happen today, running into that particular asshole had definitely been one of the top contenders.

What the hell was he doing here?  If Tucker had been near as good a distraction as he had hoped, he’d have expected to run into Felix during an earlier excursion if he had been on-base.  Hopefully, losing him just as quickly in the ensuing confusion.

Had he been fooling himself and they had known exactly what he was doing all along?  Was it only a matter of time before Felix or his jackass partner Locus came up here, laughing at his stupidity with a group of equally dickish mercenaries all with guns blazing?

The door to the training room monitoring station opened just then.

Amidst the sudden panicked thought of “ _Holy shit, how the fuck did I not think to fucking lock that?”_ while tensing with his glowing sword in hand, Tucker braced himself for a confrontation that would probably end really badly.

Instead of a firing squad, however, the teal-armored soldier was extremely surprised to be greeted by a middle-aged man with greying blonde hair wearing a gold-trimmed white armor sans helmet.

“Ah,” The Above Grounder’s eyes went large as he looked at the Slums dweller crouching on the floor with more than just mild alarm, “I’m afraid I may have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

_No shit._

The Resistance fighter was able to process a few observation points fairly quickly following that.  The guy had what he assumed was a British accent, wasn’t armed, and clearly had not been looking for Tucker judging by his reaction.

He was also standing right in plain view of the transparent wall, which would be decidedly very bad if a certain asshole looked up and wondered what (or who) the fuck blondie was staring at.

“Get the fuck down!”

Before Tucker could process things further, he instinctively reacted and grabbed hold of one of the startled man’s arms with his free hand.  Thus, pulling him down onto the floor and out of sight.

Killing armed soldiers was one thing, but a person without a weapon _and_ who had on no helmet so that Tucker could very much see the obvious deer-in-the-headlights look on their face?

Yeah, for personal reasons, he’d rather avoid stabbing them right off the bat if he could manage it.

“What in the—!“

“Dude, just stay fucking quiet!” Tucker hissed out in a probably way too pleading tone, contemplating what options he had now.

If he knocked the guy out, he could probably buy himself some time.  After all, given the fact that he was wearing armor, the guy was obviously an Above Grounder with some government and military connections even if he didn’t seem the type to be in a direct combat position.

As the older man was spluttering unintelligibly over the stranger in teal armor’s actions with Tucker convincing himself that Felix would show up any second now, Theta apparently chose that exact moment to materialize again.  All things considered, the Resistance fighter wasn’t sure if the kid had great or really crappy timing.

“We should be good, at least for awhile.” The purple figure proclaimed immediately.

Tucker nodded, while the man next to him was gaping openly at the small humanoid figure, “Nice work, Theta.”

“You’re welcome!” He paused then, his bashful cheerfulness at the praise dissipating as he took into account the sight of the other person in the room for the first time, “Um…who is that?”

“An A.I.?  _You_ have an A.I.?” The man looked incredulously at Tucker, though there was an analytical look beginning to take light in his eyes with the realization, “Who are you?”

“Er…” Tucker blinked, debating whether or not it would be worth saying anything to the guy at this point or if it would just be better to knock him out.  The latter option would probably certainly save him a shitload of time in the long run.

The slow clap that suddenly came from behind them though, intentionally drawn out to further mocking lengths, made that whole debate pretty moot.

“He’s a Resistance fighter, _sir_.” Felix cut in, finally stopping with the dick clapping as he did so, his attention falling onto Tucker with what seemed to be a combination of exasperation and amusement, “And not a very good one at that.”

“You fucking—“ Tucker was about to continue with every single nasty expletive he had been using to describe Felix in his head over the past couple of months, but the traitorous mercenary cut him off.  Probably for the best, considering that was a pretty damn long list of expletives to go through.

“I do have to hand it to you though, Tucker.” He remarked, stepping inside the room as he did so, “Attacking the surveillance systems through here _was_ rather clever.  Other people probably wouldn’t have figured out what you were up to.”

“But you did because you’re so fucking great at everything, right?” Tucker rolled his eyes underneath his helmet.

Felix shrugged in way of cocky affirmation, the gun in his hands in a rather lax position currently while his body language indicated an obviously immediate threat of that changing, “Well, you already know that and I’m really not one to brag.”

Yeah, right.  Even with this really horrible development, Tucker had to bite down the urge to call bullshit.

“You somehow got a hold of an A.I. as well.” The mercenary glanced over to Theta’s floating holographic figure then with pointed interest before turning back to face Tucker again, “That _is_ impressive, and it very much makes me wonder just who you’ve been talking to up here.”

There was an obvious smirk in Felix’s voice when he spoke next, “We have a lot to catch up on, Tucker.” He remarked, taking another pointed step into the room apparently amused at the flinching from the Resistance fighter, “You could speed things up by telling me exactly who the insider agents who are obviously helping you guys are, and where the rest of your friends are hiding.”

“Yeah?  How about you just go and fuck yourself instead?” Tucker shouted back, giving him the finger in the process.

Felix actually seemed near _ecstatic_ at this point, “Oh, come on now!  It will be just like old times.” He definitely was relishing pushing all of the buttons he knew would upset Tucker the most, “You can help fill in some of the gaps from your fat friend.  Maybe we’ll even let you see him and your son again before _finally_ finishing you off?  It’ll be one big happy reunion.”

“You fucking ass—!“

Tucker was running at the no doubt grinning mercenary before he could really think about how phenomenally stupid that was.  Just a little closer and he could stab out with his sword and— the bullet that suddenly lodged into the floor nearby his feet made him pause.

“Yeah, did I forget to mention that Locus caught on to your little plan too?” Felix asked in a nearly sing-song voice as he moved to the side slightly so that the still silent mercenary could properly enter the room, “Sorry about that.”

So now it was two of them blocking their escape.  _Fucking perfect._

As he finished with his mock apology, Felix slammed his hand onto the control panel on the wall behind him without taking his eyes off of Tucker and the others, closing the door completely.  Even if there had been any chance of exiting that way with those two hired killers standing at the ready, that definitely nixed it completely.

“We have what?  Ten minutes before the security overrides kick in and surveillance comes back online?” Felix asked Locus conversationally, “That’s more than enough time to drag Tucker out of here and dispose of Mr. Council Secretary here.”

“Wha--?” the man behind Tucker was pretty much beside himself, not that Tucker could blame him given how things had turned out.

“Sorry, Doyle,” Felix cut him off with another mock apologetic tone, “But you picked an _incredibly_ unfortunate time to decide to start poking into things on your own.  Well, only for you, really.  It is actually pretty good timing for us.”

“Get near the window.” Theta was at Tucker’s side again, the sudden movement causing the mercenaries’ attention to turn to him.

Tucker wasn’t sure why the A.I. told him to do that.  But, considering they didn’t exactly have a shitload of options currently and he had nothing to lose, he began to back up towards the row of terminals and the transparent wall behind them.  He physically had to force the still shell-shocked Doyle guy along with him as he did so.

Felix seemed rather amused by what he apparently perceived as a last desperate act, “Oh, come on, Tucker.  There’s no way you can—“

“Push the blue button to your left.” Theta was whispering urgently close by Tucker’s helmet.

“Felix!” Locus’ warning was a second too late as he apparently caught wind of Tucker quickly reaching over the panel before his partner did.

The moment that Tucker hit the button Theta had specified, the window unsealed with a phenomenally loud whooshing noise as it fell outwards down into the training area below.

Suddenly Felix stopped being a smug bastard for once which, had Tucker not had to move quickly, he would have really savored.  The mercenary swore as Tucker jumped over the terminals, dragging Doyle along with him.

The fall wasn’t exactly stellar or anything to brag about but _fuck_ , it was loads better than the alternative.  They were running just as gunfire erupted from the now open deck above.

Thank fuck for emergency exits!

“That was bitching _awesome_ , Theta!” Tucker called out.

The Fragment seemed pleasantly surprised at the praise, but focused back on task quickly given that they weren’t exactly out of direct danger yet despite fucking great miracles, “I’ll get us to a safe spot.”

He managed to give a slight nod of appreciation despite trying to focus more on just running and getting the fuck out of there, “Thanks.”

Regarding their new travel buddy, Tucker still didn’t have much of an idea as to who Doyle was.  According to Felix, he was a secretary, and it seemed safe to assume that the Above Grounder was probably not an uber-close friend of the asshole mercenaries trying to kill him.  So, at the moment, he was cool with Tucker until the chance for a proper conversation occurred.

As he followed Theta’s directions with the panicking Doyle in tow, Tucker doubted that there were going to be any “safe spots” so long as they were still on the grounds of the Mother of Invention.  But, _any_ area away from those two mercenaries was bound to be a good starting point.

*****

As far as plans went, Church was pretty sure following behind Carolina while she went on a murder spree was actually a surprisingly sane one.  All things considered, at any rate.

Well, maybe even if the “ _murder spree_ ” part wasn’t entirely accurate.

It was more like, as they were _trying_ to sneak through the facility as inconspicuously as possible, the cyan-armored Freelancer would just so happen to be the one leading the charge.  So, any _unfortunate_ assholes who ended up still getting in their way would have to deal with her first and foremost.

…Which, honestly, would most likely wind up in their deaths.

So, fuck it!  It _was_ a pretty accurate assessment, the more he thought about it.

Of course, there were aspects of the plan that Church _wasn’t_ so keen on aside from the obvious _it was stupid as all fuck and would probably leave him bodiless again_.  For starters, he was fairly certain the assholes on his team would end up using his robotic body as a human shield if they got desperate simply because he had come back as a ghost before.

Which would be decidedly _not_ all that great for him at any rate.

But, of course, Carolina had insisted that he needed to stay close to the front of the group when they started to move out.  As if the odds of him getting shot or even just inadvertently blocking a bullet with one of his limbs weren’t fucking high enough already, she wanted to throw closer proximity into the equation!

Never mind the logic Carolina had tried reasoning with as she reminded him in her not-so-subtle-way that, as an A.I., it might prove more useful for the mission if he could go into the faculty’s computer systems.  The Freelancer insisted that by being in the front of the group and thus physically closer to any terminals they came across, Church could hopefully ensure that he’d get back to his immobile body afterwards.

His cousin’s logic be damned!  He was fairly certain by this point that she was just a sadist.

Though, on the bright side?  If his robot body was destroyed while Church wasn’t in it at the time, he wouldn’t feel anything akin to the discomfort he had had before.  Probably.

Truthfully, he _didn’t_ know that for sure.  Ideally, he’d like to _not_ be put in a position to find out one way or the other if he could avoid it.

Of course, all of this was just _hypothetical bullshit_ until they actually started to move around in enemy territory.

“Any second now.  Seriously.” Church whispered, more just for the sake of complaining than really because he was banking on a response from any of his equally tense teammates.

He _did_ get a glare from Carolina, though her helmet’s visor concealed it.  Which was probably a good thing considering her unobscured glares were known to be strong enough to melt a person’s insides.

“What part of ‘ _waiting silently_ ’ did you not understand, Church?” She whispered back a second after his involuntary, and totally masculine-sounding, _“Eep!”_ at her regard.

“It’s kind of hard to wait silently when you have shrubbery up your ass.” The A.I. countered back.

The one benefit he could see Washington’s team having for _Suicidal Rescue Plan That That Asshole Tucker Came Up With_ was that they actually had a building to hide in while waiting.

After the last horrible mission his team had been on, Leonard Church was fucking sick and tired of hiding in tree lines just off the outskirts of security perimeters.

Seriously.  Who was the landscaping genius who kept thinking that obscuring vision using goddamned trees near secret military installations was a fucking smart move?  Well, truth be told, it was working out in _their_ team’s favor.  But, Church had a feeling that was one asshole who was going to get fired later on down the road.

When hiding out in the trees though, one couldn’t make too many movements.  They had to be more or less still and quiet.  Honestly?  If he couldn’t go twenty minutes without complaining, Church wasn’t sure life was really worth living.

“I’m surprised you would feel any different with the current situation then, all things considered.”

The Above Grounder wasn’t sure if he should feel annoyed that Carolina had just pulled a _“you’ve usually got a stick up there anyways”_ joke on him, or oddly proud because he _had_ walked in on that one.  He would have _so_ said it to someone else if the roles had been reversed.

But, before he could even decide on how he wanted to react, Doc interjected his own thoughts into the mix by asking innocently: “Do you even have an ass since you’re a robot?”

Church’s mind nearly short-circuited, and he spluttered unintelligibly for a few seconds before coming up with a response, “Wh—what the fuck, Doc?  Of course I have one!”

The medic put up his hands in a gesture that was meant to be placating, “I just wasn’t sure.” Doc explained politely, “Anatomically speaking, it’s a tricky question concerning robots and humans.”

“I am fairly positive that no one in the goddamned universe has _ever_ thought about that until now.” Church muttered, shaking his head.

Given his body language it seemed as if the purple-armored Above Grounder was still contemplating the question, much to his teammate’s growing exasperation.

Church turned to Sheila, who was standing close by and actually doing a pretty good job staying quiet per Carolina’s instructions, “You’ve been a robot longer than I’ve even known I had a robot body, Sheila.” He stated to his friend quickly, “Any thoughts on robot asses?”

Sheila tilted her head slightly to the side as if actually pondering the question, but Doc interrupted whatever she was going to say with a disapproving clucking noise, “Church, it is not very polite to ask a lady something like that.”

The cobalt-armored A.I. was fairly certain that he was never going to understand Doc’s thought processes, “So, it wasn’t rude to ask _me_ about whether or not I have an ass?”

“If I hear _any more_ talk about an ass, it will no longer be an issue.”

Apparently, Carolina had reached the threshold of her thinning patience with Doc and Church’s topic of conversation.  Honestly, Church was shocked the Freelancer had even lasted that long.

The two stopped talking immediately then.  Sheila seemed to let her shoulders fall slightly in relief at the interruption, obviously glad that she had avoided getting dragged into their pointless debate herself.

In the sudden quiet that followed, Church stole a glance at their other teammate currently standing silently by in maroon armor.

Normally, conversations like that would have gotten Simmons rather flustered and all sorts of embarrassed.  Most likely on account of past jokes that a certain magnificently handsome-and-now-known-as-an-A.I. teammate had made about how the cyborg probably had an archaic fax machine in his ass now.  Seriously, the redhead couldn’t take jokes at his own expense even when they were fucking _brilliant_.

But, currently, Simmons wasn’t even paying any attention to most of the world around him at all.

He was just standing there in their concealed-from-view hiding spot, laser-focused on the side entrance across the way that they would be gunning for when Carolina gave them the signal.  The Above Grounder’s body was beyond tense.

They were all on edge, really, given what they were getting ready to do.  So, he supposed he couldn’t blame Simmons for that, especially on account of what was no doubt happening in the base.

Church frowned, not really _wanting_ to say anything because, even though he couldn’t actually throw up, “ _warm and fuzzy_ ” talks still made him horribly nauseous.  Still, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he _should_ say something sort of encouraging all the same to his teammate, but the A.I. was absolutely dreading the thought of having to do so.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, just as Church was about to get a “ _suck it up and grow a pair, nerd_ ” pep talk going, Carolina suddenly spun towards them after having turned her head to the side following her last threat.

“He’s engaged.” The redhead stated quietly, and it was pretty obvious from the context that she was referring to Tucker.

Sure enough, Church could hear agitated chatter coming from the grounds close by as announcements were apparently coming in of an attack elsewhere.  There was a lot of movement too.  Some of the dicks in steel and green in particular seemed to be in a hurry to jump into transports and leave the base.

So, Tucker _had_ been right about the alien tech shit being a personal pet project of Hargrove’s then.

The mercenaries were being called in from all over to deal with him, probably in order to prevent the regular Above Ground troops from outright killing the loony asshole insane enough to attack the Mother of Invention with an energy sword.

Even if by some fucking miracle the Resistance fighter didn’t get quickly caught or killed, they would be dealing with considerably less mercenaries here for a limited time frame.  Loath as he was to admit it because of what that probably meant for the teal-armored asshole, Church knew there was no way Tucker could keep the distraction going for too long.

Carolina only waited a brief second before she was heading through the open terrain towards the alcove side entrance she had designated as their point of entry.  She had definitely done her work to ensure that they had the best possible route in order to avoid too much attention, though it was still goddamned risky.

The others followed hurriedly behind her, though it seemed like the distance to the beckoning door became _longer_ as they ran in Church’s mind.  His thoughts kept running constant scenarios of snipers taking them out the whole time.

He wasn’t even really aware of when they had made it to the entrance, just that he was surprised _Simmons_ had beaten both him and Sheila to the lock and was already halfway through the process of hacking it open.

A whooshing sound soon followed, and Carolina had already opened fire on a mercenary guard that had turned towards them in the hallway beyond.  The Freelancer was clearly not wasting any time herself.

The mercenary crumpled onto the floor.  Then Carolina was moving again, not even bothering to look back at the others on the assumption that they would do their best to keep up.

The next part of the plan _was_ fairly simple, after all.  They already knew the layout of the facility more or less, so they were heading to the first security station they could find.  Hopefully, everything else that followed would be a whole lot easier.

Given how quickly Carolina dispatched two soldiers around the next curve of the corridor with a gunshot for one, and a kick into the wall followed by a punch with a very painful sounding crack from the neck to the other, it seemed that Church’s earlier assessments about the “ _follow the redheaded Freelancer_ ” part of the plan were pretty accurate.

The A.I. just hoped the potential worries he had had about it would be considerably less so.

*****

Truthfully, Washington wasn’t exactly sure what to make of his “team” for this mission.  He wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about the fighting capabilities of _any_ of the Resistance fighters, which put him at a considerable tactical disadvantage.

Caboose and Donut were the two that he happened to be more familiar with out of the group, but he had _never_ seen them actively taking part in an actual combat situation in order to gauge their combat skills.  The two were younger than Tucker and Simmons, and they didn’t seem to take things as seriously as they should.  So, Washington wasn’t exactly expecting incredible things from them.

The one time he had encountered Caboose during a fight?  Well, it wasn’t that Washington remembered the Resistance fighter being all that imposing, save for the giant mechanical assault droid he had apparently claimed as a pet.  Especially since Caboose had failed to even consider the Freelancer agent a threat despite how that would have been quite obvious to most others at the time.

His not being exactly sure what to expect was even more the case with the two youngest fighters in the group, Lieutenant Jensen and Private Palomo.  At least Lieutenant Andersmith _looked_ more the part of a capable soldier, though his constant praise of every odd turn of phrase or train of thought that either Caboose or Donut uttered was quickly putting that observation into question.

Admittedly, the whole last-minute bathroom dilemma with the group had not helped instill any confidence in Washington.  He was _just_ now getting over the eye-twitch he’d developed as a direct result of that incident, and was currently wondering just what the fuck he was going to do as a strategy.

At the time, he hadn’t even been considering the rest of the group’s capabilities.  Instead, the blonde had been going over his own concerns about how dangerous this mission was for what was probably getting into triple digit territory by now.

In what was probably really bad timing for such thoughts, it started to really sink in how Washington had never actually led a team before.

Worst leader thought ever.  Of all time.

Naturally, that was when a light suddenly blinked to life on his helmet’s display screen.

At that exact same instance, Delta came into sharp focus in front of his visor as well, “That is the signal that Tucker has started his part of the plan.”

Right.  The Freelancer knew that.  He’d been dreading seeing that signal all this time for reasons he really couldn’t afford to currently analyze.

Washington swallowed nervously, annoyed at how dry his throat was and hoping that the teal-armored idiot wasn’t currently in the process of getting himself killed.

Comically, both Palomo and Donut were trying to inconspicuously peak through the shed’s small window overhead in order to view the sudden activity happening at the nearby base.  The sounds of heavy armored feet rushing across the grounds and transports moving filled the air.

“I think Captain Tucker’s plan might be working!” Palomo stage-whispered, and fortunately there was enough outside commotion going on that it didn’t matter anymore if the group remained completely silent, “A lot of those assholes in green are leaving!”

That was at least _something_ to their advantage.  Especially considering that Tucker’s entire plan had basically been predicated on the mercenaries responding in a similar fashion to how emergency personnel might if one pulled a building’s fire alarm.

The longer it took for the mercenaries and Above Ground soldiers to resolve the issue, the less people their group would have to deal with guarding the place and shooting at them.  Obviously it was still more than just a minor concern, but running into less enemies was something to be grateful for all the same.

Provided that the moron who had insisted on this plan didn’t get captured, or worse.

Not wanting to dwell on that particular train of thought any more than was necessary, Washington stood up.  He still had a job to do, first and foremost.

“All right.  We’re moving out now.” The blonde spoke in as clear a voice as he could to the people gathered around him, “Understood?”

There were sharp nods all around in confirmation.

Regardless of how they would be out on the actual field, the little group did at least currently have the appearance of capable soldiers.  Caboose and Andersmith in particular actually looked downright imposing due to their large statures.  Though that illusion would no doubt only last for as long as they stayed quiet, particularly in Caboose’s case.

“We head straight for the side-entrance that you marked out close to here.” Donut stated, to further illustrate that they knew what they were supposed to be doing.

So far, so good.

Washington nodded, “Delta and I will take the lead, in case there are soldiers immediately inside.  Be sure to stay close.”

“No stopping to smell the flowers.” Caboose intoned in a serious voice.

Washington sighed as that completely killed the more serious air that had fallen over them, “Right, Caboose.” He told him, “That is generally a very bad idea during a potential gunfight.”

“We will have to do that later, Freckles.” Caboose said apologetically to the gun in his hands.

“ACKNOWLEDGED, CABOOSE.”

Washington blinked in disbelief at the familiar, booming voice that had suddenly filled the space, “Was that _Freckles_?”

The last time he had seen the monstrous assault droid, it had been just a smoking heap of metal in a pit following Junior’s kidnapping, “How did…?”

“Oh, Sarge ended up figuring out a way to put him inside that gun Captain Caboose is holding!” Jensen explained rather cheerily, though her response truthfully opened up just as many questions as it did answers.

Donut nodded, “It was a really pleasant surprise.”

“Not to mention bitching awesome!” Palomo chimed in, the grin that was on his face apparent from his tone of voice alone.

“Of course he did.” Washington supposed that, by this point, _nothing_ should surprise him.

A talking gun shouldn’t be too hard to fathom considering everything the Above Grounder had seen since Project Freelancer.

“It makes going for walks together a whole lot easier now.” Caboose stated happily.

“That’s…great, Caboose.” If it made the blue-armored young man and the other Resistance fighters happy, Washington figured there were worse things in the world than having a former trigger-happy mech’s Virtual Intelligence augmented into an assault rifle.

In an odd way, actually, it _could_ be potentially a very good thing for this mission.  While Caboose’s combat skills were unknown and very likely left a lot to be desired, Washington remembered far too well how capable Freckles could be.

It was a new piece of information that would, unfortunately, have to be tested out in actual practice.  The same as how this whole team-leading exercise would be for the Freelancer.  They had dawdled enough already.

Tucker couldn’t hold out infinitely, the blonde reminded himself.  They had to make this whole crazy plan _work_ somehow.

They were darting from their hiding spot not a second later, gunning for the side entrance they had scoped out earlier as the best way for them to get inside with minimal detection.

In several ways, the plans for both his and Carolina’s teams were pretty much identical up until a point as they would hack in through the side entrance.

Surprisingly, Jensen actually beat Delta to it.  Though that was probably for the best, as Washington knew the Fragment was trying to monitor the general area while they only partially had cover just in case enemy combatants snuck up on them.

The door flew open with a rushed _“We’re clear!”_ from the maroon-trimmed lieutenant.  Washington was already moving inside, only slightly aware of the others following close behind after him.

“Agent Washington, the security room on this level is in the left corridor up head.” The miniature green-armored figure floating over his shoulder informed him, “Three doors down.”

He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, “Thanks, Delta.”

Also similar to the strategy that Carolina and her group were using, theirs banked on gaining access to the security systems of the base and disabling them.  In the process, they would be able to hopefully ascertain where exactly Junior was being held in the facility too, which would hopefully make getting to him and out less arduous and painful.

There was movement to the side from the opposite hallway to the one they were currently heading towards, and Washington fired at the steel and green figure before they had even drawn out their weapon.

Washington had to stop for a split-second in order to do so.  Which had apparently been more than enough time for Donut, _not_ having enough time to process the sudden slow-down of the older man in front, to crash right into him.

The dirty blonde had been moving with such speed that he actually somehow managed to knock both of them off balance and down onto the floor.

“Ow!”

“Oh, sorry, Agent Washington! “ The lightish-red armor wearer let out a nervous laugh, “Didn’t mean to take you down like that!  Usually guys I crash into stay up longer!”

_Okay, odd choice of words there._

Washington was on his way to getting back up, offering out his hand to Donut in the process, when he heard an “Oh, shit!” followed by the sudden form of the aqua-trimmed Palomo running full-speed towards them and desperately trying to halt himself before—

_“Seriously?”_

Washington was back on the floor again, the air being crushed out of his lungs by _two_ heavily armored soldiers trying to disentangle themselves from one another on top of him.

His gun had landed a few yards away, right next to the feet of the Above Ground soldier who was stepping out of a nearby room to see what was causing the noise in the hallway.

_Oh, fuck me._

Palomo and Donut were still in the middle of the process of getting up and away, and Washington watched with an almost detached horror as the enemy soldier drew his own weapon in what felt like slow-motion and—

In a split second, a light hit the Above Grounder’s white-armored chest and a loud bang followed.  Blood spurted from the sudden wound that appeared as the soldier collapsed.

“What the—?“

Washington hadn’t even gotten the exclamation out, his surprise cutting the remark off early at the sight of Caboose standing there with Freckles still pointed at the ready.

“Good job, Freckles!” The younger blonde exclaimed over the shock of the onlookers still on the ground.

“THANK YOU, CABOOSE!”

“Excellent timing, Captain Caboose!” Andersmith all but shouted joyously as both he and Jensen came into view moments later.

Caboose turned to chastise the other three as Jensen and Andersmith helped to pick them up from the floor, trying to sound authoritative as he did so but not quite getting the tone right, “You guys!  That was a really bad time to be playing tag!”

“You’re telling me!” Donut replied in earnest, fastidiously wiping imaginary dirt from his armor despite the pristine cleanliness of the floor, “That was not at all how I like to picture tackling guys to the ground.”

Okay, Washington really wasn’t going to be asking for clarification on that remark any time soon.

“Yeah, that wasn’t really a great moment.” From how he sounded, Palomo was most likely sporting a very large frown on his face, “Though I guess it would have sucked even worse if _all_ of us had done that.”

“You mean like that relay Sarge had us run for training?” Jensen asked him curiously.

Palomo shuddered at the memory that apparently dredged up, “Yeah.” His voice took on a horrified note, “I was on the bottom of the pile then.  When Bitters and Andersmith fell on me I thought I was going to die.”

“That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t slipped in the first place.” Andersmith countered, evidently a bit annoyed that his name had been mentioned as one of the reasons for Palomo’s near-suffocation in this relay event they were talking about.

“There was a rock and it stubbed my toe!” The private whined, “That really hurts!”

The older lieutenant shook his head and sighed, “It was a debris-filled tunnel, Palomo.  There were rocks everywhere.”

“The point was that we were supposed to avoid all of them and practice footwork.” Jensen reminded him.

“Yeah, but—“

As the three continued debating what had apparently caused an even more colorful slide than this one had been, Washington retrieved his weapon from where it had fallen while letting out a very tired sigh as he did so.

Terrific.  Arguably his first real leadership experience and he had nearly gotten himself and two other people killed.

He was off to a _great_ fucking start.

“Agent Washington?” Caboose was looking at him with such obvious concern that it barely registered in the Freelancer’s mind that Caboose had a pretty good record currently going for getting his name right more often than not.

The Freelancer forced a smile in response, even if he knew the younger fighter couldn’t see it because of his helmet, “That was pretty good work, Caboose.” Washington told him, giving a slight nod of gratitude to both Caboose and the gun he was protectively clinging to, “From both you and Freckles.”

Caboose seemed happy at the praise, though he admitted a second afterwards, “I may have closed my eyes when I fired.”

Washington sighed, “It probably isn’t the best idea to tell people that right after you save them.”

Donut was watching the exchange, and when he saw Washington’s shoulders slump again, he stepped right in, “Aw, don’t feel too bad, Agent Washington!  We’ve all had our share of tumbles, after all!  Not just the recruits.”

The older soldier raised an eyebrow, not quite sure it was the pep talk that Donut thought it was but understanding what the pink-armored soldier was trying to get at all the same.  Due to his own clumsiness in general, Washington had more than his share of accidents too even before this.

“I’m sure you’ll get lucky again before you know it!”

The Freelancer sighed.  With _that_ comment, the awkward-as-all-get-out encouraging moment going on right now had to be nipped in the bud.  Not just for the mission’s sake, but for his brain’s as well.

“Hey, look!” Jensen had peeked over the soldier’s corpse lying in the hall to get a better look at the room he had been walking out of as, due to how his body had fallen, it was currently blocking the sensor that was meant to detect that it was safe for a door to close again, “Isn’t that the security room?”

“That is correct, Lieutenant Jensen.” Delta had materialized again at Washington’s shoulder, having apparently gone to investigate the space himself during the confusion earlier.

Well, at least there was _something_ akin to good news about that particular embarrassing pitfall.

Andersmith and Palomo began dragging the body back inside the room, while Jensen raced forward to inspect some of the terminals as they did so.

Washington moved forward to join her, noticing that Delta was hovering closer and closer to the computer panels as well, “How long do you think you’ll need, Delta?”

The A.I. Fragment was practically a millimeter from one of the terminals now, “Approximately two minutes to shut down the surveillance systems and communication lines to this facility.  Another four to locate the human-alien hybrid.”

 “If you could narrow it all down to five or less it would be better.” Washington muttered, not really expecting a response given how focused Delta seemed to be on the machines currently.

Surprisingly though, Delta gave him a slight nod, “I will see what I can do.”

Then the A.I. Fragment was gone inside the terminal, which began flickering obscene amounts of data at an alarming rate across its surface.

Washington sighed, his grip on his weapon tightening as he turned to face the door.  His embarrassment over what had happened was fading completely from his mind now that things were getting back on track.

Right now, making every second count was all that mattered.

Now that the body was off to the side, Andersmith and Palomo came back to the center of the room, standing slightly behind the Freelancer and the two more experienced Resistance fighters.  Jensen was looking at one of the terminals near the one that Delta had used to enter into the computer network, trying to gain a better understanding of what it was they were displaying while she had the opportunity.

Washington kept his foot over the sensor line, deciding it better for the door to remain open at the moment just to avoid any nasty surprises.  If necessary, he could easily force it shut and have it locked, but getting stuck in a confined space would be a last resort measure for very obvious reasons.

Donut was fidgeting nervously next to him, while Caboose seemed to be trying to carefully pay attention to the hallway too.  Though the younger blonde’s glancing around the space seemed to indicate he was perhaps growing a bit bored all the same.

The seconds ticked by.  Washington was expecting any minute now for the mercenary he had taken out earlier to be discovered, or for there to be the thunderous sound of several armored feet heading their way with yelled orders over a press of gunfire.

“Their surveillance systems have been disabled.” Delta’s voice informed them from behind, nearly causing Washington to almost jump.

Considering the _very_ literal slip-up from before, the Freelancer really was going to kick himself for being _so_ focused on what might lay outside the room that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything that had been going on behind him.  He managed to cover his shock pretty well, only giving a slight bounce to his step as he turned around to face the apparently infinitely patient A.I. Fragment.

Still, that was actually a lot faster than he had expected.  Or perhaps time was just moving a lot quicker in general due to how intense this mission could potentially get.

“How long will that give us?” Washington asked.

Delta seemed to consider the question for quite some time before he landed on what he felt was a satisfactory conclusion, “Approximately twelve minutes or so before they start to come back online.”

From close by, Palomo let out a whistle, “That really isn’t long at all.”

“No, but it’s better than nothing.”

Even if the Above Ground soldiers and mercenaries caught on to what had happened before time ran out, they would at least be running more or less blind for a little while.  Any type of diversion was something their group had to make the most of while it lasted.

Jensen was still standing close by the terminals that Delta had emerged from, scanning a line of data scrolling across one in particular, “Hey, I think I’ve found where the little guy is!”

The other two newer recruits were suddenly right next to the girl, and Washington had to resist the urge to roll his gray eyes when he noticed Caboose and Donut heading off to do the same.  So much for focus.

Granted, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t guard this position on his own for the few seconds it took them to confirm Jensen’s comment, but it was troubling that it seemed like this group of fighters had the attention spans of gnats.

“Really?  Where?” Donut sounded incredibly hopeful, peering over the teen’s shoulder at what she was pointing at onscreen.

“There’s a notice about someone they’re calling ‘Specimen A’ on Level…52?” She paused, her helmet tilting slightly in alarm and bewilderment, “That can’t be right!”

Washington shook his head, “It is.  Most buildings here in Above Ground have several floors to them.”

“Dude, I would be so afraid of falling.” Palomo’s voice was tiny, as if in awe at the notion and scared of it all at the same time.

The Freelancer sighed, “There’s usually walls and floors to prevent that from happening.”

“I wouldn’t have thought this facility was that large when were outside it.” Andersmith was no doubt frowning underneath his helmet, his tone taking on a contemplative note a moment later, “Are there some underground levels too?”

“A few.  The basement floors never go as low as what a mining tunnel level would though.”

It was conversations like this that reminded Washington just how much of a culture shock the group before him was probably experiencing being on the surface for the first time.   All things considered, they were honestly dealing with it better than he would have thought.

“That is going to be a whole lot of climbing though.” Caboose spoke up, his voice quiet.

“Lifts will make that part considerably easier.” Washington assured him.

“But they are seriously calling Junior ‘ _Specimen A_ ’?” Donut’s question was an angry one, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side, “That is so…!”

“It’s short for alien, I suppose.” Andersmith spoke up when Donut trailed off in frustration, his own distaste at the probably rather accurate assessment quite obvious as he fixed Washington with a level stare beneath his visor, “Given this, I assume that thinking they have treated him as an _actual child_ would be too much to hope for?”

Andersmith sounded _hurt_ when he asked the question, already knowing the answer well enough without Washington confirming it.  The other Resistance fighters had downcast and upset body languages as well.  They all had interactions with Tucker’s son, after all.  It had been one of the main reasons everyone had so readily volunteered to take part in the rescue attempt.

Seeing the fears that Junior had been going through some no doubt awful experiences since he had been taken by the mercenaries pretty much confirmed in a line of text probably didn’t help to lift their spirits much.

Washington sighed inwardly, knowing he currently really couldn’t do much to make the situation better for them.

Instead, he motioned to the still open door, “Let’s just make sure we actually get him away from here now.  All right?”

Caboose perked up at his words, “Agent Washington is right!” He exclaimed loudly, “We have to save Tucker’s dog-baby!”

“Um…what?” Washington shot a confused look to Donut, but the pink-armored soldier simply gave a small shrug of his shoulders in way of apology that he couldn’t explain just yet as Caboose was apparently on a bit of a roll.

“Because if we don’t save him, it will be sad!” The blue-armored soldier continued, “And if things are sad than they can’t be happy—and if things aren’t happy than no one will have ice cream with lots of sprinkles!”

Andersmith was actually _clapping_ following that odd train of thought, “That is an excellent motivational speech on states of mind, Captain Caboose!”

“I really want some fucking ice cream now.” Palomo remarked, and Jensen promptly smacked him on the elbow slightly.

“I seriously think my brain just broke.” Washington really wasn’t sure _how_ to even begin processing that speech.

It seemed as if Donut was smiling at him though underneath his helmet at how quickly the mood had seemed to lift, “Sometimes it really is best to just go with the flow.  It makes a good deal of sense from Caboose’s perspective.”

Shaking his head once more, but secretly a bit relieved that the downcast moment had passed all the same, Washington sighed once more.

This whole conversation had cost them more time than he would have liked, but at least they now had a good idea of where to head next.

Next thing to do was secure a lift to get there.  Which shouldn’t be too hard, given that the layout for this base was somewhat familiar to him.  It had been awhile, but the Freelancer was fairly certain he had actually been here at some earlier point in his military career.

Or perhaps it was even a remnant of a memory lingering in his head after Epsilon.  He couldn’t be too certain either way, but a bit of familiarity regardless would be helpful at this point.

The Above Grounder turned a right after exiting the security station for their current level, incapacitating the two guards rounding said corner before they could even react.  _Don’t fucking trip or stop short this time, please!_  

There they were: two elevator lifts, ready and waiting.

“We’ll take one and disable the other to buy more time.” Washington nodded towards the lift that was to the right, “Delta, do you think you and Jensen could…?”

“On it, sir!” She gave an enthusiastic salute before bounding over to that particular lift’s control panel.

“Of course, Agent Washington.” Delta echoed her statement in his own polite way, joining the tan girl a second later.

The maroon-trimmed lieutenant and the A.I. conversed quietly for a few seconds before he disappeared into the panel and she began pressing some of the lighting displays on the touch screen surface in a sequence that Washington would have to be observing a lot more closely to figure out.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to break it or something?” Palomo asked from behind, “Whenever I spill my soda on a computer it breaks _real_ quick!”

“Fire works too.” Caboose added in, “Though I don’t know how they catch fire so fast!  Probably something Tucker does.  Stupid Tucker!”

Washington felt as if he was reaching a new record when it came to how often he was sighing by this point, “Yeah, if it’s all the same to you guys, neither of you will be touching anything remotely mechanical for the rest of this mission.”

“Aw, no fair!” The Freelancer was fairly certain the dark-skinned private was pouting.

“What about Freckles?” Caboose was staring down at his assault rifle, seemingly fearful that Washington was going to attempt taking it away.

As if the Freelancer had that much of a death wish: “You can still carry Freckles, Caboose.”

“Oh, oh!  Can I still touch mechanical stuff?” Donut was actually waving his hand in the air just then like a student wanting to get called on by a teacher.

There was a dull headache beginning to form in the back of the Freelancer’s head now, “Sure.  Within reason, I guess.”

Hopefully that didn’t mean that Donut would want to push every single floor button on the lift.  Though it had probably been a good thing that Washington had already told Caboose _not_ to touch anything technology-based, given that he could easily picture the blue-armored Resistance fighter attempting such a thing now that he thought about it.

Donut looked as though he was about say something else when there were footsteps coming from one of the hallways behind them.  From the thunderous sound filling the space, it was definitely more than just two or so people heading their way.

Andersmith, having positioned himself by the corridors leading to the lifts in order to keep an eye on things, was heading back towards them with a shout of _“Incoming!”_ just as Jensen and Delta rejoined the group while the only still active lift was open and waiting.

“Move!” Washington held back to make sure the others stepped inside first, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the pink-armored soldier was standing slightly both in the open doorway of the elevator lift and out of it.  His hand was gripping something that looked oddly like…

Donut caught the Freelancer’s eye and tilted his visor questioningly, “Toss away?”

Washington _really_ hoped Donut was referring to the grenade he was holding and not something else, but he really didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Toss away!” The older soldier shouted before he could think on how that possibly sounded, moving inside the lift.

The steel and green-armored figures were _just_ coming into view when Donut threw the grenade with the surprising accuracy of a professional sportsman directly into their midst.

Washington slammed his hand against the control panel just as the mercenaries’ shocked curses and exclamations cut off, the lift shaking as the space they had been standing in moments before reverberated with the force of the blast.

He shot an impressed look over at the Resistance fighter before entering in Level 52 to the lift, “Nice throw.”

“Thanks!” Donut was most likely beaming, “I always have been great at tossing.”

Yeah, Washington was just going to leave that alone for the sake of his own already quite strenuous grip on his remaining sanity.

The elevator ride was surprisingly quiet given this crew.  Well, Palomo had tried humming a little at first, but the two lieutenants on either side of him smacking his arms caused him to stop.  The blonde supposed that the quiet was to be expected.

They didn’t, after all, know what they would be dealing with when they reached their destination.  For all they knew, he could be leading them right into an ambush.  It was tense.  Even Caboose seemed nervous, clutching Freckles just a bit more tightly when the elevator doors opened.

They were greeted by what appeared to be an empty corridor.  Washington frowned, stepping out into the space beyond the lift cautiously.

All Above Ground bases were built with decidedly utilitarian designs, both for functionality and to help prevent a ton of ambush situations as implausible as they were up until just recently.  Paranoia had always run deep in the building schematics for Above Ground, which was both a good and a bad thing.

Good from the stance that it provided fairly good visibility for their endeavors, but bad in that the opposite was also very true.

So, if no one was in this stretch of corridor, they could be hiding in one of the rooms that lined it or at another bend.

“Tucker’s distraction really has been helpful, huh?” Donut asked, practically skipping over to him.

Washington frowned, “It certainly appears that way.”

He just hoped that Tucker’s efforts to divert attention away from these side projects hadn’t ended with him getting killed.

The Freelancer wasn’t quite sure why considering that they had only met a few times and often not on the best of terms for most of those instances, but the thought of the Resistance fighter dying was one he was not comfortable with.

Besides, he would seriously be fucking pissed with Tucker if he died before reuniting with his son after all of this.

 “Still, it would be best to exercise caution.” Delta advised, practically taking Washington’s planned next words out of his mouth, “There _are_ other people on this level.”

Washington thought about that for a moment, the hold on his weapon tightening a fraction, “Junior, or…?”

The Fragment tilted his head apologetically, “I cannot say for certain.”

Not every soldier or mercenary stationed here would be called away, and researchers would invariably be stuck on lockdown once they realized people had been tampering with the computer systems.  _Any_ room they potentially went past could have a hostile inside.

“Stay alert.” Washington went out in front of the group again with Delta hovering over his shoulder.

Having the A.I. around in close proximity like this was more than just a little disconcerting to him, though it wasn’t the same thing as a direct implantation.  Besides, the blonde figured it was more than just a little upsetting for the Fragment as well after having had York for a partner and then choosing to hop along with Carolina for who-knows-how-long to be stuck with Washington now.

The floor they were on was clearly designed with research in mind, being very reminiscent of the floors of the Mother of Invention that were dedicated to technology development and the medical wings.  Any open doorway they passed, which was exceedingly odd now that he was thinking about it, showed rooms with rows upon rows of sterile equipment and state-of-the-art machinery.

One even had a bed that looked as though blood had been splattered on it not too long ago.  He tried not dwelling too much on who it belonged to or how it had gotten there.

“Did you cause any power outages when you disabled surveillance and communications, Delta?” Washington asked quietly.

The Fragment was looking at the open and, in some cases, only partially open doors and the dim emergency lights in some of the rooms.  His body language indicated that Delta was slightly troubled by what he saw, even for a more logic-based Artificial Intelligence.

“No.” Delta said cautiously at length, “I hadn’t even known the importance of this specific floor until Lieutenant Jensen discovered it.”

After all, it had taken considerable focus on the Fragment’s part to disable the security programs.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Donut and the others had been listening to their discussion as well.

Washington couldn’t help but swear slightly under his breath, “It means that something else happened at this base in the interval of when we shut off the security and now.  Something that is affecting the power flow on this floor.”

“So, something _other_ than us blowing shit up?” Palomo asked.

The Freelancer gave a curt nod.  It could be something surprisingly minor for all he knew, and in that case it could be rather beneficial for them.

But, if it was something like the mercenaries or other soldiers staging some sort of coup?  Well, getting caught up in that kind of bullshit on top of everything else would be decidedly bad.

The main medical bay door was sealed shut when they arrived, though Washington wasn’t really too surprised.  Considering what they were hiding there, it was no wonder that if anything happened to the power flow the door would seal to prevent anyone from potentially getting in or out.

“This shouldn’t take too long to open if we double-team it again.” Jensen assured the Freelancer, heading to the panel as Delta disappeared into it.

Honestly, having an A.I. act from the inside of a terminal while having someone do the same manually had proven quite helpful on this mission.

The Above Grounder nodded his head in acknowledgement towards the girl before turning to the others, “I’ll go first, in case there _are_ soldiers inside.” Washington informed them, “Provide cover from here and keep focused on the corridor as well.  Fall back as a last resort.”

Keeping the corridor free of enemies would definitely be best when it came to an easier escape later on once they had Junior.

Washington barely heard the joint “Roger that!” from Andersmith and Donut, quickly followed by a rather confused “But there is no one named Roger here!” from Caboose, before he was walking through the now open door.

The Freelancer had stepped into a large space filled with every kind of medical device one could probably imagine.  The main medical bay had an antiseptic smell that nearly burned his nostrils, even _with_ his sealed helmet on.

Being there immediately brought to mind thoughts of waking up screaming after the Epsilon incident, and for a long moment he completely froze.

“Agent Washington?” Delta asked, sounding, if not outright concerned, at least somewhat understanding of the Freelancer’s sudden hesitation.

“I’m…fine, Delta.” He took in a deep breath, shuddered violently, and then started to move again.

For as large a space as this was, the research portion of the faculty did seem, for all intents and purposes, to be deserted.

Washington assumed that a lot of that _was_ by design.  Project Freelancer hadn’t had an exceedingly large list of direct employees due to its classified status, and even the later cybernetic enhancement program hadn’t had too many for similar reasoning.

He vaguely remembered Doctor Grey talking about that with Simmons quite a while back, subsequently feeling a little guilty that he hadn’t asked about her after having gotten her unintentionally exiled to the Slums and the Resistance.

Given what Junior was, and that the Chairman’s interest in alien biology and technology had a lot to do with the device he was planning on using to essentially commit large-scale murder, it probably would make sense for the staff here to be limited to a few trusted personnel only.

But, even still, there _should_ be at least some—

The blonde was cut off in his musings by a low-to-the-ground form covered in teal and blue trim moving towards him at a surprisingly high speed.

“Blarg!”

Washington blinked, only having seen the child once before from far away while Junior had been unconscious.  The alien boy was a miniature form of the hostile aliens they had encountered from time to time on this planet, save for the teal armor covering his body.

Armor exactly like Tucker’s.

“Junior?”

The little alien stopped abruptly, tilting his head to the side curiously to stare at the stranger in steel and yellow calling out his name.

Which, unfortunately, was more than enough time for the guard Junior had apparently been running from to catch up to him.  There was even a rather pronounced tiny imprint of one of Junior’s feet embedded in the side of the mercenary’s armor.

“Got you, you fucking—!“ The mercenary paused at the sight of Washington standing there with his gun raised, and quickly moved to aim his own at the Freelancer instead of threatening the child with it.

Washington fired first, the shot going straight through the guard’s visor.  There was burst of blood from the back of his helmet, and he promptly crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Just as the Freelancer heard the all-too familiar sound of a gun cocking behind his own head.

“Oh, fuck me.” Washington groaned, and he decided that if the person turned out to be Wyoming again he was going to just throw himself out of the nearest window and save the Freelancer-turned-mercenary the trouble.

“Eat lead, dirtbag!”

Admittedly, he had _not_ expected a gunshot to come from off to his side, downing the researcher who had apparently decided to try to use Washington’s distraction by Junior and his pursuer to his own advantage.

The Above Grounder had especially not expected a gunshot accompanied by a voice with an oddly familiar twang to boot.

“Y—you?” The blonde spluttered out as the Resistance fighter simply called Sarge stepped forward, kicking the downed researcher’s body for good measure.

“Naturally.” Sarge harrumphed, as if the surprise over the turn of events coursing over the Freelancer was completely unnecessary, “Who else would have that much flair for kicking ass and good timing?”

“But, you weren’t…I mean—!“ Washington was still trying to wrap his brain around the man’s sudden appearance.

After all, as far as he knew the rest of the Resistance who had come topside were in hiding.  If Sarge was here, then…

“The rest of the area is now clean.”

Suddenly C.T. was there as well, emerging from a shadowy corridor nearby while checking her weapon over as if she had recently fired it.

Upon seeing her, Junior suddenly let out a loud whooping cry and was bounding over to the person that he recognized as one of his father’s teammates.  The alien hybrid was wrapping his arms around C.T.’s legs, nearly knocking the brown-armored figure over with the force of his hug in the process.

“It’s good to see you too, Junior.” The smile crossing over the brunette’s features was apparent even with her helmet concealing her face, as she rather awkwardly repositioned herself to pat the child on the shoulder and pull him back slightly as if to check him over, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Honk, honk, blarg!” Junior was talking in a rather excited pitch back at her.

Washington shook his head, “What in the…?”

Connecticut looked up momentarily at him, tilting her head to the side a bit in way of greeting to her former teammate, “Nice to see you again too, Washington.”

Sarge sighed, “No need to pop a blood vessel there, son.” He told Washington as if this entire situation was perfectly normal, “We heard about your rescue plan, and the Freelancers listed this base as one of the most likely targets for it.  So, we figured we would come and try to even the odds since this _is_ Red and Blue Team business after all.”

The way the older man stated that last point almost sounded as if he was daring the younger solider to argue with him.

“Tucker was only going to send that message to Kimball.” Washington focused on instead, knowing that the Resistance fighter had not wanted her to say anything about it to anyone else.

“A word of advice to both you _and_ Tucker the next time you want to keep a message private?  _Never_ compose a text communication if Caboose happens to be in the room.” C.T. remarked, and it sounded as if she was trying to stifle a chuckle along with her suggestion.

“Él llegará al ‘Enviar Toda’ botón cada vez.” _{“He will hit the 'Send All' button every time.”}_

Washington couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the new voice.  Apparently, the robot Lopez had been standing behind Sarge the entire time and he just now noticed.

Did they bring the whole fucking Resistance with them?

“Caboose completely ruined my surprise birthday party for Grif that way too!” The old man was nodding emphatically in agreement with C.T.’s apparently sage advice, although disappointment laced his voice when he added, “What’s the danged point of having party games through a minefield if the dirtbag knew it was there beforehand?”

Oddly homicidal birthday party surprises aside, Washington was still trying to figure out just _what_ had happened here.

“So, you saw the communication and figured out that this place had a high enough potential to be one of our targets?” He started, “And you figured you would just _stop by_ here then to check things out?” Washington’s voice was getting a bit high due to his growing sense of incredulousness, “Without _telling us_ first?”

“Well we would have looked mighty stupid if it turned out we were wrong.” Sarge explained matter-of-factly.

“That’s—that’s beside the point!” Washington groaned, feeling like he wanted to slap his hand against his face desperately but knowing smacking it against his helmet wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, “How did you even manage to get to this level _before us_ anyways?”

“The more important question to ask is how _you_ didn’t notice the crashed air transport.” The older Resistance fighter reasoned instead.

At Sarge’s comment, Washington frowned and turned his head slightly to peer further up ahead.  Sure enough, there was a smoking transport that was _actually_ crashed through the far wall of the medical bay area.  The Freelancer felt his jaw fall open at the sight, and honestly would have very literally tried kicking himself if that wouldn’t look stupider than he felt right now.

_Fuck!  How the hell did I not see that earlier at all?_

It certainly explained the power fluctuations on this level too, now that he thought about it.

“Nice observational skills, numb nuts.” Sarge remarked from behind as Washington simply continued to gape.

One of the side doors to the transport slid open just then and a tan helmet with pink trim poked through the doorway of the vehicle, “I think there should be enough power left for us to get out of here, Sarge!” A young woman’s voice spoke up as the helmet bobbed up and down slightly.

“How…?” Washington was starting to feel like a broken record at this point.

“ _That_ was thanks to Tex.” C.T. remarked, Junior clutching onto her hands and jumping up and down with excited babble as she diverted her attention from him only temporarily to show some pity on her childhood friend, “Once we decided to go help you guys, she _persuaded_ an airfield to let go of one of their crafts.”

The younger woman still hanging out of the transport nodded her head in agreement, “She was still at it when we left.  It was a really good distraction!”

So, it wasn’t just Tucker’s distraction at the Mother of Invention that was no doubt the reason for this facility’s rather empty hallways.

Apparently, there was also one ex-Freelancer who could somehow lift a tank over her head and hurl it with surprising ease that was helping to cause a bit of panic everywhere in Above Ground.  He could only imagine the massive amounts of damage control that was being needed as a result of her efforts.

Which was probably a pretty good thing, as the girl had mentioned, despite how utterly insane the last couple of minutes had been.  If Washington hadn’t even seen the fucking _air transport_ because he had been so focused on finding Junior, dealing with even more enemy combatants would have probably not been ideal.

Another armored figure in yellow emerged from the transport just then, with the pink-trimmed Resistance fighter following close behind.

This new Resistance member broke into a run after spotting Junior still chattering up at the former Freelancer he was currently glued to.  By the newcomer’s excited laugh, Washington recognized that she was another girl.

Junior turned to stare at her, pulling away from C.T. momentarily at the sight of the yellow armor with what could only be described as a rather joyous cry ringing out of his mouth as the fighter bent down to pull him into a tight hug.

“Hey, little guy!” The girl was laughing loudly, “So, you’re the one who was stuck here, huh?”

“Blarg!” Junior nodded his head in confirmation, apparently just as ecstatic to see this newcomer as she had been to see him.  Obviously, the two probably knew each other rather well if this meeting was any indication.

The girl in yellow armor looked up questioningly at Washington after a moment, “What about my asshole brother?”

He blinked, at first not quite understanding what she was asking before the words sunk in and he remembered some of Tucker’s past remarks about growing up in the Slums.  Given the situation, she was most likely referring to Grif.

Which would make her Kaikaina, his little sister, if he was remembering that correctly.

The Freelancer knew that Tucker was close to her as well due to having a shared childhood, which made sense as to why she reacted the way she did upon seeing that his son was here.  He supposed it only made sense that Kaikaina would have tagged along on this crazy mission of Sarge’s as well, given that.

Apparently all of Tucker’s friends were infuriatingly stubborn and not as familiar with common sense.

“He’s not here, unfortunately.” Washington told her, his tone apologetic, “Another team is at the base where he was last recorded being at.”

Kaikaina lowered her head as if needing to take some time to process the news, absentmindedly patting the top of Junior’s head as she did so.  Perhaps she had been hoping her brother would be here too, so knowing that wasn’t the case was undoubtedly disappointing.

Finally Kaikaina sighed, “Well, that figures.  You cops always have to make things extra difficult.”

Washington blinked, taken aback as the girl was definitely looking at him when she spoke, “Wait, what?  Who said I was a cop?”

“You smell like one.” The young Resistance fighter stated matter-of-factly.

“That…that doesn’t make any sense!  At all.”

C.T. apparently thought it might be best to break into the conversation, if only to prevent Washington from passing out due to exasperation, “Any word from them?”

He shook his head, grateful for the focus back on serious matters, “No, not since we split up.”

“It’s good to know Junior’s okay though.” Kaikaina nodded her head and was clutching onto Junior’s hand tightly as the pink-trimmed fighter next to her bent over to say something to the alien child as well.  Evidently all of the Resistance fighters were rather fond of Junior given the displays he was seeing here, “Everyone was worried sick about him, but if Junior could handle these assholes for as long as he did than my fatass brother should be okay too.”

From the slight tremor in her voice and how the other girl had reached over to clasp a hand on Kaikaina’s shoulder in a comforting gesture a second later that had the two sharing a look, Washington was fairly certain Grif’s sister was saying that to try to beat down the worry that had probably been gnawing at her for quite some time.  But, he supposed at least it was an indication of how strong Kaikaina was trying to be that she could do so at all. 

Truthfully, that there were people here who had shown up, even if how they did so still made _absolutely no sense_ to him whatsoever, who actually knew Junior personally was something of a surprise blessing.

The others in his group had followed his order to stay behind, and he still considered that the wisest course of action at the time due to all of the unknown variables that had been at play.  But, thinking back on it now, he _should_ have probably had at least one of them come along with him just because it would have meant having someone there that Junior would have recognized and trusted.

The blonde had certainly not been nearly as focused as he should have been far too often on this rescue mission, for whatever unknown reason he had for that.  It was only a damn miracle that things hadn’t turned out worse as a result.

“The others are waiting outside.” Washington muttered finally, letting his shoulders slump as the thought of how every mistake he had made during this mission could have been disastrous began to flood his mind once more, “If the transport is still operational that will make getting out of here less complicated.”

Sarge nodded, apparently in agreement with the Freelancer.  He turned to the two younger fighters in their midst, Junior now swinging excitedly in-between them as he held onto their upraised hands.

Washington heard the two of them assuring the child that he’d see his dad soon, and he sincerely hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be just wishful thinking on their part as Sarge ordered, “Get Tucker’s little alien love-baby on board.”

The older soldier ignored the _“You suck, old man!”_ remark he got from Kaikaina over interrupting Junior just getting to have fun for a second, turning instead to face the brown-armored robot standing behind him disinterestedly next.

“Lopez, go find the others and tell them to get in here pronto so we can skedaddle!”

“¿Usted va a enviar a la única persona que no pueden entender que decirles a venir aquí? Eso es en realidad la cosa más sensata que has hecho durante todo el día.” _{“You're sending the one person they can't understand to tell them to come here?  That is actually the sanest thing you've done all day.”}_

The robot wandered off, hopefully to do what Sarge had asked although it was rather hard to tell what he would do sometimes.

That left Sarge mumbling to himself about possible repairs the transport might need when they got back, while C.T. carefully regarded Washington.  Her childhood friend was watching absentmindedly as Kaikaina and the other girl walked Junior over to the transport, his thoughts elsewhere.

“I would have thought Tucker would be on your team if he knew this was where Junior was being held.  But, if he _was_ here, there’s no way he would have stayed behind while you went on ahead to rescue his son without him.” She surmised, apparently already filling in the gaps as to what Tucker’s absence must have meant.

The Freelancer sighed at her comment, jarring him out of his own thoughts.  Considering just _how much_ crazy he had been exposed to today already, he figured he might as well just add to the mix himself now and dive right in.

“If it’s at all possible, could you drop me off somewhere first before getting everyone to safety?” Washington finally asked both C.T. and Sarge, who were staring at him curiously, “There’s something incredibly stupid I need to do still.”

*****

Bullets flew past them as Tucker bounded through the open area to take cover behind a conveniently placed crate, Doyle hot on his heels.

The Resistance fighter let out a shaky breath, not sure if he should be glad to be out of the death trap that they had been in until about three minutes ago.  In other words, they were _finally_ out of the maze of corridors and rooms that made up the base proper for the Mother of Invention.

Okay, in all honesty, he hadn’t expected to nearly get cornered by those _dicks_ Felix and Locus after he had thought they had lost them following the training room incident.  The mercenaries nearly caught the group again after he had taken a left without thinking about it a second before Theta had told him it would have been better to go right.  But, slipping past them and locking the door to the room had been fucking _awesome_ , especially since the escape route that Carolina had devised for Tucker earlier meant he had to go outside where a whole shitload of enemy fire was waiting.

Not that Tucker hadn’t expected that he would need to vacate the base itself at some point during this whole stage.  However, while the possibility of getting cornered in confined spaces wasn’t good, there were more places to hide and take cover inside a building than out on a pretty flat terrain that was very much apparently well-maintained and free of clutter more often than not.

Seriously, there were too many places where one was just a very bright target in flashy armor, and only a few places where there was any kind of object or vehicle to duck behind.  It seemed as if the soldiers taking shots at them now were trying to keep a barrier between them and most of the larger parking fields and outlying buildings just to ensure they didn’t have a lot of options for hiding.

But, he knew it had probably been fucking _time to go_ awhile back, especially given how escalated things had become once he threw in an unarmed person into the mix.  A person Tucker was now trying to keep alive, along with dealing with a pair of homicidal jackass mercenaries trailing him who really didn’t like someone making them and their whole stupid horde run around looking foolish and inept

Especially when there was no doubt that this would be getting back to their employer at some point, if it hadn’t already.

The “surprise” advantage had probably run its course the second they had miraculously bolted from the training area after disabling the surveillance systems.  Even if the soldiers here were still running more or less blind after them, they probably had a bit of a score to settle now and were just really pissed off some Resistance fighter had gotten past all of them so far.

Tucker was honestly not quite sure how they had managed to avoid getting killed up until now taking all those factors into consideration, but odds were pretty damn high they weren’t going to be maintaining that fortunate streak for much longer.  So, when Theta had mentioned there being a side exit from the ground floor of the base that wasn’t _as_ heavily surrounded as some of the other ones were, the Slums dweller figured it was a sign that he’d best go for it now if they were ever going to have a chance to get out.

From there, it was just a painfully long run with metaphorical targets plastered on their backs to a landing field that Carolina had advised him to _“run towards without looking back”_ the second he could do so.  He wasn’t quite sure why heading to part of the grounds that weren’t really off to the outskirts of the base’s territory would be a good idea in the middle of a fire fight, and Carolina had been tight-lipped as to what to expect when he got there.

Apparently the redhead was a little paranoid that Tucker might reveal something vital if he got captured under torture, so she refused to explain more about whatever “extraction plan” she had arranged for him.

Still, considering that there seemed to be a whole shitload of enemies now lined up along said perimeters, he could kind of figure out why maybe just trying to bolt for them wouldn’t be the smartest move in this case.

Hopefully, whatever the Freelancer had set up would do the trick.  Even more than that, hopefully his whole part of the plan had bought the other two groups enough time.

_It had to._

Nearby, the middle-aged man who had been forced to come along with Tucker or get found in a ditch later, given Felix’s comments, was leaning heavily against the crate very much out of breath.

Which figured since they’d been pretty much on the move since they had escaped earlier.  Doyle didn’t seem to be a soldier actively involved in combat, so the older man probably wasn’t as fit when it came to that kind of strenuous activity to begin with.

 Tucker sighed, feeling a bit guilty, “Sorry for getting you caught up in this shit, dude.”

To his credit, Doyle actually managed to stop hyperventilating for a moment to fix the younger man with a glare, “If you’re truly apologetic, you could start by explaining a few things.”

A sniper’s bullet embedded in the ground just a meter or so away, causing the two men to press closer to the minimal cover the crate provided.  Their backs were practically glued to it now.

Tucker winced, “Not really the best time.”

Doyle frowned, but the harsh expression had completely faded as the Above Grounder stared at a bullet hole that had been far too close for comfort, “No, I suppose not.” He muttered quietly, more understanding than Tucker would have thought.

A spray of gunfire erupted from the opposite side of the crate, several bullets impacting on the metal contraption and causing it to reverberate violently.

Thankfully, the storage containers Above Ground used were damn near indestructible.  Tucker imagined it would take several hours of consistent gunfire for rounds to actually begin piercing through the crate and making it to the other side.  Not that he really wanted to test that theory out.

Several more bullets flew past it, hitting into the wall several meters away and ricocheting off disconcertingly but, fortunately, not towards their direct location.

While it more or less looked up close like a normal building, Tucker had heard how the Mother of Invention was actually built from the remnants of one of the original colony spaceships that had been stranded here.  No wonder it didn’t seem like a dent had been made to it despite all the heavy fire.

Tucker shrugged, deciding to throw the Above Grounder a bone, “Well, to make a long story extremely short, the guys shooting at us are huge assholes.”

“Yes, I had figured that much out already.” Doyle rolled his eyes at the very condensed explanation before looking at Tucker with a more analytical regard, “You’re with the Resistance?”

Tucker couldn’t help but groan, not expecting an Above Grounder to exactly be thrilled at that notion, but honestly really not having the patience to fucking deal with it at the moment.  Especially after he’d just saved said person’s life.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not going to turn into a fucking dick about that right now!”

Doyle held up a hand in an oddly diplomatic gesture, as if trying to soothe over a brewing conflict before it escalated, “I’m more curious than anything else.” He explained, giving a slight upturning of his head to focus Tucker’s attention on the noises of the soldiers behind them, “Considering everything that has happened, I’m not in any position to judge.”

Ah, so he was just a nervous talker then.  Or maybe he just wanted some answers before he was killed.  The last thought made the anxiety building up in Tucker’s brain even harder to quell.

If the Resistance fighter was going to die here, he at least wanted to know it hadn’t been for nothing.  He could relate to Doyle perhaps having similar thoughts.

“Tucker, there is additional cover in the direction of the landing field.” Theta was back in plain view, his holographic form motioning to a grouping of about four crates.  They were the only other ones in sight in any direction that didn’t seem to be crawling with troops of steel and green mercenaries.

Sure enough, just a bit farther behind them was the flight deck that Carolina had all but literally beat into his head the importance of before.  He was fairly certain that the cyan-armored Freelancer had been about two seconds away from actually attempting that when her patience for his joking had run thin.  _Some_ people really did not have much in the way of humor.

“I see it, but getting there is going to be the issue!”

Sure, it actually looked like they could reach the spot without having to cover too much distance from here.  Still, Tucker knew from personal experience that even shorter runs felt like goddamned marathons when there was a very high possibility of you getting mowed down the second you left yourself remotely exposed.

He had to bite down on joking about his own choice of wording there.  Even with the possibility of death looming overhead, old habits were hard to ignore.

Tucker was out of explosives by this point.  His sword, while still looking pretty damn cool, was useless if he couldn’t actually get close enough to anything to make contact.  He was a decent shot with a gun, but there were also way too many targets to make focusing a ton on that effective.

They needed to not have every gun pointed at them the second they made a run for it, even if that didn’t last for much longer than a millisecond.

Theta seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

The Fragment flickered, stating, “Give me a sec.”

Then he winked out of visual existence again before Tucker could even respond.

Suddenly, there were surprised shouts and exclamations from a group of soldiers that had been in the process of closing in on the two fugitives.  The Slums dweller could picture what had happened pretty easily enough, even without peeking over the crate to confirm it.

Theta had materialized directly into the midst of the mercenaries, effectively using himself as a temporary distraction since none of them had probably expected a miniature armored figure popping in just to say hello.

Tucker couldn’t help but smile slightly in gratitude in the boy’s direction before motioning for Doyle to get moving while they had the best fucking chance they probably would ever have of being able to do so.

The humans were both dashing for the grouping of crates on the opposite side of the area, Tucker trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the possibility of the enemy soldiers suddenly turning around and reacting to their movement.

He saw Doyle dive behind the crates’ shelter, and at that exact moment a sharp pain suddenly erupted from the calf muscle of his right leg.  He crumpled, noticing the blood spray that was suddenly coating the very recently cut grass around him.

Tucker only had enough time to turn around just then to see that fucking Locus _douche_ with his gun still aimed at the fallen Resistance fighter before catching a faint shimmer close-by.  Suddenly, an all-too familiar knife was swinging down in an arc towards him.

He barely was able to block it with his sword, the pressure from the wound on his leg causing his knee to buckle as he tried to keep from losing his balance completely.

“We’re supposed to be taking him in alive, Felix.” Locus said in his deep, uncaring tone, “Remember?”

The other mercenary had completely disengaged the cloaking tech he had used to get as close to Tucker as he had for the surprise attack.

Yeah, something told Tucker that these two did _not_ appreciate their forced alone time together from earlier.

“I know.  I know!”  Felix’s obviously angry stare was still completely focused on his target, “But, after the stunts he’s pulled?  That gunshot wound is definitely not going to be the only hole he’s leaving here with.”

“Fuck off, asshole!”

Tucker managed to somehow get into a sort of half-crouching defensive posture even with the sharp, shooting pain traveling all over from his leg now.  His sword was out protectively in front of him, and he frowned.  He couldn’t do more than block in this position, but maybe that could be enough.

“I am _really_ going to enjoy beating you senseless, Tucker.  Plus getting a few stabs in, of course.” Felix remarked as his hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his beloved combat knife.  Despite his body language’s obvious anger, there was a twisted sort of mirth in his voice, “I should get it on film for your kid to watch later.”

Injured or not, Tucker saw red at the mention of Junior ( _huh, he could almost understand Sarge a little better now oddly enough!_ ), “You—!“

Before he could even finish the insult on the tip of his tongue and, more than likely, _stupidly_ lunge forward to at least try and get a hit in on the smug bastard, a succession of bullet holes formed in the ground between them.

Their impact and closer proximity to the mercenary caused Felix to jump back a bit, “Where the fuck did _those_ come from?”

Tucker blinked, turning to see if maybe Doyle had picked up a gun at some point while he was preoccupied, only to see instead the last couple of things he ever would have expected to see.

A transport very similar to some of the ones he had seen Above Ground military use in excursions into the tunnels to move heavier equipment and large amounts of personnel had pretty much plowed into the crates, causing them to have scattered in all directions.  Their spilled contents were all over the ground and landing field.

Doyle was scrambling through the transport’s open side-door as Tucker stood there gaping at the extremely welcome and, all things considered, pretty fortunate sight.

Moving past the graying blonde secretary, weapon still raised and alternatively pointing at both Felix and Locus to keep them from acting, was the stubborn and paranoid giant pain-in-the-ass Agent Washington himself.

“Wash, what the—?“

Tucker didn’t even have time to fully scream out his shocked question at the Freelancer’s sudden appearance.  The teal-armored soldier had been attempting to fully stand up properly despite the pain building up in his gunshot wound, but Washington was already there.

The Above Grounder grabbed his arm forcefully with his free hand, hauling Tucker’s still protesting body behind his own and over to the relative safety of the armored transport.

Doyle and Caboose ( _what the fuck was he doing here too?_ ) were at the door, pulling Tucker inside.  Well, it was most likely more Caboose given how freakishly strong the younger Blue Team member was.  Theta was flickering into existence close by Tucker’s shoulder again.

He barely registered the gunfire Washington was laying down to cover their escape as the Freelancer turned and leapt back inside behind him, pushing Tucker in the rest of the way so that the door could seal shut properly.

“Sorry about the jostling before.” A woman’s voice called out from the front of the vehicle, “I told those morons to move that shipment hours ago.”

The female was continuing to mutter rather loudly under her breath about how whoever she was berating apparently couldn’t listen worth shit, though Washington simply shook his head, “Not a big concern right now.” He told her, “Just move!”

“And here I thought I should just keep us in idle until they got the heavy duty firepower up and running, just to be polite.” The silver-armored driver quipped back sarcastically.

Then they were double-timing straight through a bunch of the assholes who had been starting to surround the vehicle, and Tucker _still_ wasn’t sure what was going on beyond that his leg was hurting and at the moment he was _pretty_ sure he wasn’t dead yet.

“What just fucking happened?” Were the first words that came out of the Resistance fighter’s mouth the second he felt like he could actually breathe enough to use his voice.

“Um, the extraction plan?” The woman driving haphazardly through the grounds at speeds that certainly would qualify as well past reckless stated matter-of-factly, tilting her helmeted head slightly so that she could apparently get a better look at the passengers behind her, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He looked demandingly over at Washington for further elaboration.

The Freelancer sighed, “Four Seven Niner here is an old friend of Carolina’s.  She used to be a pilot for Project Freelancer.” He explained, motioning to the woman to indicate that she was who he had been referring to, “She’s the one Carolina arranged to get you out.”

“I’m used to crashy pick-ups.” Four Seven Niner stated over her shoulder, attention understandably focused more on the getaway than their conversation.

Caboose tilted his head slightly at her odd word choice, “I thought it was bumpy.” He muttered to himself.

“Not with all of the things I’m crashing into today.” Still, her hearing was pretty damn sharp!

Now it sort of made a bit more sense to Tucker as to why Carolina had been so reluctant to fully explain just what his escape would entail.

If he had been caught beforehand, there would have been the possibility that he could have ended up revealing that she had gotten a former co-worker involved in this whole operation too.  Which could have ended rather badly for Four Seven Niner as well.  If he didn’t know exactly who she was or what the escape plan entailed, well there was a good chance she could have just played innocent and not gotten caught and killed herself.

Both Delta ( _ah, so he had come along too then since he had been stuck with Washington earlier_ ) and Theta had drifted over to the front with Four Seven Niner.  Apparently they were helping to calculate the best possible route to take, though from the slightly agitated tone Four Seven Niner’s voice took in response to something Delta had suggested, it sounded as if their advice could devolve into a minor argument instead.

Doyle had slumped to the ground of the vehicle, not even bothering to make it to a seat, looking very nearly comatose by this point.  Not that Tucker could necessarily blame him for being exhausted and in shock about recent events.

As much as Tucker wanted to ask a shitload more questions in general about, _fuck it_ , everything, seeing Washington and Caboose again had him focusing on just one thing in particular, a sharp stab of panic hitting his chest, “Junior?”

Shit, if they were here because things had gone wrong…

Washington grabbed his shoulder, pressing a tight squeeze over the armor there despite how minimally Tucker would feel it as if he was trying to calm him down, “He’s fine, Tucker.  Safe.” The blonde assured him, and he could almost swear a slight smile had crept into his voice as he added, “He’s a strong one.”

“Damn straight.” Tucker felt himself equal parts relaxing at that fucking beyond amazing news and feeling proud all at once, “He’s my kid.”

“I could tell.”

Which was great.  Usually, when someone said stuff like that about Junior, it was meant to be some kind of stupid joke on account of how the child obviously took more after the other side of his family appearance-wise.

From the way he said those words, Washington seemed completely serious and even oddly _fond_ in a way.

Before Tucker could ask him what he really meant by that or ponder what his inflection meant, the Freelancer continued on, “Actually, there were some surprises that happened during the mission.” He admitted, before his gaze flickered over to Doyle curiously, “Though I take it the same thing happened here?”

“You could fucking say that.” Tucker was only halfway joking and he was curious as all get-out about what ‘surprises’ Washington was referring to himself, but his comment ended on his wincing horribly within the confines of his helmet.

The pain in the Slums dweller’s leg was becoming sharper now that all of the adrenaline he’d been running on since the beginning of this mission was starting to dissipate.

“Oh, Tucker is getting blood all over the floor.” Caboose observed, “That is not hydration.”

Tucker couldn’t help but fall into old habits around his blue-armored teammate, “Hygienic?”

“That too.” The younger man started heading over to the front of the transport where Four Seven Niner and the Fragments were still talking, “I will see if they have any band-aids and lollipops.”

“Thanks, Caboose.” He smiled slightly despite the discomfort he was in, as he now had no doubt that Doctor Grey was spoiling his teammate whenever he stopped by for checkups with her.

Tucker hadn’t even noticed that Washington had begun pushing him into a seat during his conversation with Caboose until the older man was fumbling at the clasps on his armor surrounding his right leg, “Uh, what are you doing?”

“There’s a medical kit back here for emergencies.” Washington explained, looking up at the confused Tucker for only a second to do so, “But, I figured giving Caboose something to do would be helpful.”

Well, it certainly would keep the younger blonde from attempting to poke at the wound or something in a vain attempt to “help.”

Tucker nodded appreciatively before glancing over to his teammate with a slight frown, “Why is he here anyways?”

The escape plan had certainly been risky, that’s for sure.  He had a feeling that Washington would have refused to allow any of the Resistance fighters to come along as a result  since it was totally okay for the Freelancer to be a stubborn jerk and get himself killed, but anyone else doing so was a no-go.

Seeing the childlike Caboose out of all of the others being here was a little bit of a shock.

Washington apparently felt the same way as there was a definite frown in his voice once more when he responded, “Honestly?  I’m not sure.” He admitted reluctantly, “I had left the group to catch up to Four Seven Niner before she had gone to help you, and suddenly there he was.” The Freelancer agent shook his head, obviously perplexed, “He is surprisingly stealthy.”

“You’re telling me!” Tucker couldn’t help but joke in agreement, “Wait until you try to take a leak in the middle of the night with him around.”

Caboose had quite _literally_ scared the piss out of him once by shouting out a sudden cheerful _“Hi, Tucker!”_ on his way to a midnight snack.  The blonde never quite understood why Tucker would yell at him for asking if he wanted a glass of milk too at the time.  It _was_ pretty funny when it happened to other people, or when he looked back on it now.

Tucker paused on that more light-hearted recollection though, looking down with a sudden frown at the steel and yellow-armored soldier who was intently checking over the bleeding hole in his lower leg to make sure that the bullet had gone clean through.

Come to think of it, why the fuck was Washington _here_ too?  Not that the Resistance fighter wasn’t grateful for the save, but the Above Grounder had done more than enough already by keeping his promise to rescue Junior from those assholes.

He wasn’t quite certain if it was something Tucker should ask or not.  For some reason, that had the dark-skinned man feeling oddly hesitant and almost _shy_ , which was definitely not like him.  So, the Resistance fighter instead equated the sudden sharp intake of breath he took when looking at the blonde as being a sign of the anxiety he still had about the plan and all of its components rather than anything else.

 _One_ of which he hadn’t focused on yet, and Tucker latched onto it now both out of concern and to cover up whatever weird feeling he’d gotten pondering the odd actions of the who-can-really-guess-his-reasonings-because-he-doesn’t-fucking-ever-say-why-he-does-anything-anyways Freelancer before him.

“What about Grif?” He asked, hoping for good news on his chubby and lazy asshole friend as well.

Washington paused, reluctantly shaking his head, “No word yet.” He told him, but as he saw Tucker’s shoulders slumping he quickly added, “But, given that Carolina is with that group, I wouldn’t worry.”

The Above Grounder was probably right, given Tucker’s initial impression of the redhead.

There wasn’t much he could do about the situation currently, at any rate.

Tucker sighed, his leg still hurting.  Honestly, walking away with _just_ that injury was pretty damn impressive when he thought about it.  Suddenly, the Resistance fighter was feeling more exhausted than anything else.

There were a whole lot of things his brain probably needed to process still, as well as a whole lot of discussions to be had all around.  But, having gotten out alive and knowing that Junior was okay would have to do for right now.

Tucker didn’t even have the energy to make a teasing remark about how Washington was still touching his leg.  He was just grateful that the Freelancer seemed to know what he was doing from a first aid stance.  That the blonde was there in the first place, no matter how inexplicable.

For right now, that was more than enough for Tucker too.

*****

_Room 57-B on Floor 32._

According to the faculty’s file records, that was the room where Grif should be.  There was no _fucking way_ the cyborg was going to forget it.

That one location became a mantra running on constant repeat in Simmons’ mind as his team made their way through the base following their disruption of the security systems. It had actually been a combo effort on not just his and Sheila’s parts, but Church’s as well.  Although, the A.I. complained loudly about having to do so at the time because it still felt “fucking weird.”

Truthfully, a whole lot of what happened on the mission following the obtaining of that vital bit of information was a blur to him.

The maroon-armored soldier was on edge and scared shitless.  Way more than usual even.  But he was oddly focused on that one location detail all the same.

Everything else in his mind, everything else that was going on around him?  It was all pretty much inconsequential comparatively.  Everything else just sort of blurred together to Simmons.

Tucker’s distraction at the Mother of Invention, along with all sorts of other activities happening elsewhere at critical outposts around Above Ground, had done the trick of significantly thinning the number of enemy combatants their team encountered.

Apparently there had even been a separate attack at a landing field nearby.  Who knew the timing would be that awesomely coincidental?

If a soldier or mercenary happened to pop up, Carolina usually dealt with them with the brutal efficiency of a tank.  If it was a larger group, sometimes he or Sheila would assist.

Church would _try_ to help, but apparently becoming a ghost A.I. hadn’t actually miraculously improved his aim any.  He was about as effective as Doc was in combat, and the medic wasn’t even actually firing on people due to still being a pacifist.

The team was always back on the move often before the last body had even hit the ground.  Briefly the redhead recollected that they had gotten onto a lift at some point, but nothing else eventful had happened after that.

The corridors all looked identical after a certain point due to the utilitarian designs of these military installations.  So, before Simmons was even aware of _when_ it actually occurred, they were standing before the very room number he had been repeating in his head.

A locking mechanism sealed the room shut.

He knew what he was doing, and this time he wasn’t going to let his own insecurities get the best of him.

When Simmons had been a teenager before entering military training, he hadn’t even thought about screwing up the hacking through the sealed entrances to the tunnels below.  Back then, he hadn’t really thought of anything: he had just _wanted_ to be anywhere but in his stifling home, so that he could feel like he was able to breathe for once.

The cyborg was at the locking mechanism before Sheila or Church could even step up to it.

After entering in a long string of codes that probably only took seconds, but seemed to linger on after he pushed them in at a crawling, mocking pace the door opened rather unimpressively.

Carolina went in first, firing at the one lone mercenary who had been standing inside.  He didn’t even have the chance to turn around to face them, something pointed and jagged flashing in the air momentarily before hitting the floor near his body.

“Holy fucking _shit_.”

Church’s surprisingly hushed commentary reverberated through the space before Simmons was able to properly look inside himself.  It was quickly followed by a shocked gasp from Doc, and an alarmed look cast the cyborg’s way by Sheila.

He hardly even registered any of it.

The first thing Simmons really took notice of beyond the crumpled mercenary body on the floor and what was undoubtedly the bloody knife he had seen falling before at its side, was that there was _a lot_ of red on the floor.  The color spread around in large, grotesque splotches everywhere.

 _Too much_.  _Way too damn much._

There was also quite a bit of that same crimson liquid trickling off of the feet of the heavier set figure still _hanging_ by swollen wrists from the ceiling.

Simmons wanted to puke.

There was bile rising up his throat.  He could hear Church, despite being inside a robot body now, actually make a noise that sounded very close to retching.

Instead of giving into his own urge to do the same, Simmons pushed himself into the space on shaky legs and towards the tanned figure.  His cybernetic eye took in every minute physical detail: all of the marks and cuts of which it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and another began, the _red_ all over…

But, he also noted the shallow breathing too.

 _Focus on_ that _above all else._

“I’ll cut him down.” Carolina’s voice was terse, but slightly softer than usual as she cast an unreadable look at the maroon-armored soldier close by before she turned her attention to the group as a whole a moment later, “You four get ready.”

“R—right.” Doc nodded his head and walked shakily over to Grif as well.  Anything remotely akin to a proper medical exam would have to wait until later given their time frame.

Simmons remained silent as they lowered Grif as gently as they could to the ground.  He was really trying not to think at all on how the Resistance fighter felt way too hot and way too cold to the touch all at once, or how he hadn’t even reacted to them getting him down.

Grif had always been a heavy sleeper, but that was way too much even for him!

“It’s going to be a pain in the ass getting him out of here.” He heard Church muttering from what sounded very far away even though they were all still gathered in the way too small and suffocating room, “I’m no doctor, but even I know he’s not in a good condition to travel.”

“We’ll manage somehow.” It was Carolina who responded, “Three of us do have robotic components, after all.”

He could tell Church was frowning, “Yeah, but that leaves just you and Doc of all people to—“

Their voices trailed off.  Truthfully, the cyborg could have probably still heard what they were saying if he was focusing more, but it was like he was currently _there_ and _not_ at the same time.

Simmons wasn’t even aware of when he had almost touched his index finger to one of the disturbingly deep cuts on Grif’s face.  He stopped himself just a second before he did so, afraid of inadvertently causing any more pain to the other man.

_This floor’s unsanitary.  He’s going to get an infection laying on it like this!_

The cyborg took a deep breath regardless of whether or not he technically needed to do so anymore, his thoughts becoming increasingly more anxious and nervous.

They just needed to _go_ , to get _him_ out of here as soon as possible.  As it was, Simmons couldn’t stand being in the space himself.  Grif shouldn’t have to be in it for another fucking second.

“I’m sorry I won’t be of much help until we’re out of here.” Doc had crouched down next to his friend, still sitting on the floor near Grif regardless of the blood coating it.  The medic’s body language was remorseful, “I couldn’t bring a lot of supplies and, well…” Doc paused, trying to come up with a delicate way to continue but ultimately deciding he couldn’t, “I don’t need the scanner to tell me it’s _bad_ , Simmons.”

“I—I know.” Simmons breathed again, terrified and relieved all at once and also still wanting to just puke, “But he’s _alive_.”

Even though he knew he shouldn’t given the other’s condition, Simmons shakily wrapped his arms lightly around Grif’s body in a sort-of embrace.

_Everything’s going to be fine.  You’ll get better.  You’ll see Kai again.  I’m going to fucking yell at you the second I know you’re up for it, you fat fuck!_

For a second, he could have sworn he felt Grif’s muscles twitch close to where Simmons was leaning over him.  The redhead glanced at the Resistance fighter’s face then, seeing Grif’s eyelids flicker slightly despite the thick caking of blood over them that would need to cleaned off before he even woke up.

Simmons had to resist the urge he had to sob and hug even tighter that very nearly overpowered him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** The rescue plan has been carried out (or, as I like to call it, “Operation: Carolina Doesn’t Mess Around”)! :) I apologize for any weird pacing and my not-so-great action sequences throughout this chapter. I am not the best with writing those, so I am definitely kicking myself that there will be a bit more of them in later chapters! XD
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> But, on the plus side? Tucker got out okay, Junior is back, and so is Grif…though he’ll definitely have to recover from what happened for a little while. I was a bit vague on the extent of his injuries in this chapter on purpose since I figured Simmons would probably be a little too upset to focus on a ton of details at the time, but yes…they are pretty bad (sorry, Grif! O_O).
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> Next chapter though, we’ll see more of what’s going on with quite a few characters. There is definitely going to be a bit more development when it comes to some of the romances as everyone is recuperating in the aftermath of this whole rescue endeavor: Grif and Simmons will get a proper reunion, Tucker and Washington will finally get a chance to talk, and we’ll even see what has been going on with the Resistance fighters who were still stuck back in hiding for the last couple of chapters! Lots and lots of hearts-to-hearts all around. :D
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> Thank you so much for reading, as always! :)
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> {Also, totally excited for the start of Season 13! :D}


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Kimball wasn’t sure _what_ to make of the news she had just heard.

Her stopping abruptly in midstride must have illustrated just as much to the person standing in front of her.  The younger soldier suddenly clammed up with a nervous swallow at her direct stare, looking around awkwardly at pretty much anything in the area but the Resistance leader.

She had been so caught up in reviewing the battle strategies they had been preparing in the back of her mind that she hadn’t even noticed Lieutenant Matthews approaching earlier until he’d saluted and actually spoken.  His words were only just now starting to sink in given where her mind had been moments before.

“I’m sorry.  What was it that you said again, Lieutenant?” Kimball asked, trying to buy herself more time to process everything.

The pale young man blanched even more, shifting uncomfortably where he stood as if very likely afraid she might be one of those “shoot the messenger” types.  She wasn’t, for the record, but given Matthews’ tendency to overreact to things she couldn’t blame him for probably assuming most people who were his superiors were.

“Um…an Above Ground military transport was spotted past the designated safe zone.” He repeated haltingly, “Agents Tex and York went to investigate it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, “That’s what I thought you had reported.”

Worst case scenarios flooded her brain, as she had pretty much expected them to the first time the rookie had sought her out with the information. Unfortunately, there were no preventative measures to buy herself more time.  The dark-haired woman could have sighed ruefully at having even attempted to do so once again.

Had Above Ground or their mercenary allies increased their search radius following the recent escapades of some of the Resistance members, especially since their searches closer to the city proper so far had yielded nothing?  Had the shielding Tex cobbled together for her little hideaway somehow been compromised without anyone knowing?  In other words, was this lone transport perhaps just a precursory wave, or—?

“It’s one ground transport, and a pretty heavily damaged one at that.” North informed her, breaking into her spiraling thoughts.  The purple-armored former Freelancer had just stepped into view right next to Matthews, who looked more than just a tad relieved to have the attention currently taken away from himself.

North had no doubt been observing the situation along with the others before deciding it was best to give her more details.  Which also probably meant that it hadn’t been an exceedingly recent turn of events either.

She sighed, “No one informed me of this earlier because…?”

The blonde gave her an apologetic smile.  He knew well enough after having listened to her vent to several people, himself and Sarge included, how some of the actions taken earlier that week without her knowledge had been more than just a tiny aggravation to the leader of the Resistance.

To be clear, it _wasn’t_ that Kimball was heartless or that she hadn’t understood why they took such actions.  The idea of sitting around doing nothing hadn’t sat well with her either, after all.  Besides, to say she hadn’t at least predicted Tucker’s actions in particular was an understatement.

But, the whole “rescue plan” had been extremely reckless and could have had the potential to have gone very, very differently.  Many of those differing routes more than likely could have resulted in the deaths of several Resistance fighters, and the plan to go after the relic before it became weaponized could have easily been jeopardized beyond repair.

She was exceedingly grateful that _hadn’t_ happened and, all things considered, the outcome had been better than anything she could have hoped for.  Junior was back and, while he wasn’t here due to the situation at hand, Grif was apparently safe now.  At least according to their Above Ground contacts.  Beyond Tucker and Caboose, who they still hadn’t been in contact with since Sarge and the others had somehow lost track of the blue-armored fighter, everyone was accounted for. 

Tucker and Caboose’s unknown status _was_ worrying, despite continued assurances from their allies that in this case no news about them on enemy channels was more than likely good news for the Resistance members.

Still, even with the amount of successes, that did not mean that she wasn’t upset at how things had played out all the same.  As the one technically in charge, regardless of how she originally felt about that responsibility, Kimball _needed_ to be informed of matters as they came up.

“The transport only became noticeable to us about twenty minutes ago.  Whoever the pilot is, they are pretty good at covering their tracks.” The former Freelancer said in way of explanation.

 _Ah._   Since Kimball had been walking pretty much everywhere around the encampment for the last few hours due to all of the preparations at hand, she hadn’t really been easy to track down.

Given how out-of-sorts Matthews had been when he had approached her, the auburn-haired young man had probably been someone that Tex had spotted and “coerced” to help track Kimball down the second they had noticed the vehicle.

“As far as we can tell, it also isn’t apparently registered to the Above Ground military anymore.” North continued, “Which means—”

“They have manually deactivated all of the information on it to avoid being detected easily by Above Ground security.” Kimball finished for him, a sudden hopeful realization hitting her squarely in the chest at the notion as she watched the blonde carefully to gauge his reaction, “Tucker and Caboose?”

It seemed that Caboose had evidently wandered off to assist in retrieving Tucker after the rescue plan had finished.  Sarge had regretfully informed her of that following their return, and she belatedly remembered the younger soldier’s tendency to wander off surprisingly quickly out on the field too.  A few times Caboose had gotten quite lost in the tunnels when they had first met, often at times requiring search parties.  Thankfully, that tendency had faded to being more of an “every couple of months” occurrence rather than a daily one as the blonde learned his ways around the Slums and the adjoining area better.

Given how Tucker’s part of the whole rescue escapade had been the most attention-grabbing at the time, at least before Tex and the others had decided to help out with an impromptu distraction at an air field, it made sense that the two would have had to have gone into hiding before rejoining the others.  If nothing else, it allowed for some time to simply let the heat on them die down a bit.

Even Tex, as skilled and frighteningly capable as she was, hadn’t joined back up with the Resistance until two days after her addition to the plan.  Understandable, given that she had to make a break from a military compound on her own after securing the air transport for the others.

When she finally did so, Tex had waltzed right in as if it was any other day, casually throwing a gatling gun to the ground with an unapologetic shrug of her shoulders.

Kimball had been so relieved and shocked at the time that even her annoyance at the former Freelancer for her part in the “rescue mission” came a bit later.

“It certainly seems like it could be.” North nodded his head in agreement with her assessment, looking rather hopeful himself, “But Tex and York wanted to go ahead just to make sure.”

Truthfully, it was a sound strategy.  The two would more than likely be capable of taking care of things if it turned out not to be the hoped for return of their comrades and, in the process, they would buy the others time to decide on what they would do next as well.

“Let’s go see for ourselves.” She decided after only a second’s worth of contemplation, knowing that it wouldn’t be too long before they got back if there had been no major hiccups.

Kimball sent a nod of thanks and a quick dismissal towards the relieved-looking Matthews before she and North made their way to the hideaway’s main entrance.  She was fairly certain the lieutenant had been in the middle of a supply retrieval mission for Doctor Grey earlier, and it was usually best for all involved to not keep the doctor waiting too long.

Sarge was already standing at the entrance, looking decidedly grim with his shotgun out on display just in case.

Nearby as well were Lopez and Donut, the two most senior members of Red Team minus Grif currently.  The brown-armored robot seemed largely disinterested in what was going on, tilting his head only minimally to the side at the two newcomers before apparently shifting his attention to pretty much anywhere else once again.

Donut seemed to be rather eager about something, jumping a little where he stood.  Kimball had a feeling he was hopefully thinking what she had been earlier, perhaps even planning on how to best greet his friends the second they came through the door.  She felt her lips tugging slightly upwards at the thought despite herself.

C.T. was also there, Junior clutching onto the brunette’s hand tightly.  The former Freelancer and current Blue Team member’s expression was more guarded than Donut’s, but softened slightly as she smiled whenever Junior looked up at her.  The brunette perhaps not quite wanting to be as positive that this could be a happy outcome as the others given her past experiences, but not wanting to diminish that hope for the others given that the excited air about Junior was almost a perfect mirror to Donut’s.

Andersmith was standing close by the two of them as another representative of Blue Team.  While he was trying to mimic C.T.’s more composed stature and Sarge’s more alert stance, it was obvious the older man was just as excited about the possibility of Tucker and Caboose returning as Donut and Junior were.

Kimball knew that the other lieutenants had been assigned tasks earlier in the day, though she suspected that at the very least Kaikaina would probably be racing over here if she caught wind of what was possibly going on.  No doubt several of the others would do the same too.

Her eyes drifted back towards Tucker’s son.  Ever since Junior had come back, he had been glued to someone’s side.  Often it was C.T., Kaikaina, or one of his other designated babysitters amongst the Resistance fighters.  Barring any of them, he could usually be found hanging around the younger recruits.  At least once he had even been spotted following Sarge, the alien child listening to the older man’s rant so fixatedly that seeing it had caused Kimball to smile a bit.

She suspected Junior’s separation anxiety was most likely a reaction to how he had been treated and isolated by the Above Ground researchers.  Understandably, he wasn’t too keen on being alone again for any lengthy period of time.

Even when Junior had been “put to bed,” he would wake up earlier than anticipated and try to seek out anyone he was more familiar with.  Once Kimball had found him curled up by Tex while she was checking over her weaponry, a clear look of _anyone says anything about this and I will personally end them_ written clear as day in the redhead’s dark eyes.  Following the second such occurrence the Resistance fighters became even _less_ likely than before to approach Tex, even when it came to viable tactical reasons, for fear of her slamming them into the wall if she perceived they were mentally making “big sister Tex” jokes.

Kimball then offered to let the boy sleep in her designated office space instead.  She was up all the time going over strategies and other preparations, or even trying to figure out what to say in the journal entries she still tried recording when she could.  It seemed that the constant noise of her work, or of others coming and going, seemed to relax Junior rather than disturb him.

In a way, the child’s presence had also helped her to relax too.  Junior served as a reminder of some of the positives that could happen even in seemingly very hopeless situations, at a time when she desperately needed such reminders.

“Blargh!” The half-alien tilted his head slightly at Kimball’s presence, copying the motion from C.T. as Andersmith saluted quickly.

The dark-skinned woman gave them and the assembled Red Team members a brief nod and a slight, reassuring smile in return before raising a black eyebrow wryly in Sarge’s direction given how closely he held his weapon at the ready.

“I don’t think Tex or York would bring back anyone they suspected of being potentially dangerous, Sarge.” Kimball reminded him.

No, if the occupants of this mysterious transport turned out to be enemies, Kimball knew sure enough given who their escort was that there would be an impromptu shallow grave dug nearby even now as they spoke.

He harrumphed, still focused on the main entrance as if expecting the always sealed metal doors to suddenly explode inwards at any second, “Always a good idea to be prepared.”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose.” She remarked, and perhaps the irony of the conversation had finally sunk in to the red-armored soldier just then because he shot her a split-second questioning glance with his brown eyes.

“Suppose I had that coming.” Sarge stated quietly, but there was a distinct look of approval and relief on his face all the same, “I wasn’t sure _what_ to make of the silent treatment you were giving us regarding the rescue plan.”

Kimball sighed, not really sure she would have used “silent treatment” to describe her lack of talking about the issue in general.

Truthfully, no one had really brought up the matter to her beyond giving her status updates after the fact.  She just hadn’t really wanted to discuss it out of hand due to the conflicting feelings of annoyance and relief she felt over the outcome, along with the recent news of the relic’s location too.

“It’s not like I can’t understand why you went through with it, or why Tucker and the others beforehand did either.” She admitted to Sarge, partially relieved to have been given the opportunity to air things out without it being insanely awkward for either party, “And I am mostly beyond happy that things have turned out as they have.”

She paused in her discussion then, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes as she added, “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you to sweat a little over it still.”

He chuckled at that, and she knew from that response alone that she had said just what was needed to get the soldier over his own oddness about how things had played out, “You’re more diabolical than most people give you credit for, Kimball.”

Vanessa Kimball smirked playfully back at him, knowing that from Sarge that was a pretty high compliment.  In some ways she considered the leader of Red Team an oddly good friend by now, so she was glad they were getting back to their normal interactions.

The older man seemed more at ease now knowing that they were on good terms again, relaxing a bit even with the present situation at hand.

Really, if he hadn’t been so stubborn about wanting to just focus on mission prep since coming back and had just worked over his odd trepidation to actually _talk_ to Kimball about his decision earlier, he could have saved himself from the awkwardness and fear that she was anything more than just slightly upset over having not been informed about things.

She had already talked to Tex about their whole role in the rescue plan, and had told the lesser ranked fighters that she understood why they had acted as such in the first place.  Things had more or less gone back to routine following that with all of them, despite any earlier frustrations she may have had about how things had played out.

Perhaps the idea of upsetting his commanding officer had actually been so much more of a cause of anxiety for Sarge.  It made sense given how he always tried to instill a respect for the proper chain of command in everyone else in the Resistance that he had just been way too uneasy at the prospect of bringing it up until now.  Even if he had felt the rescue mission was important at the time, she could understand why he would have a harder time dealing with the aftermath.

After all, he’d left Above Ground when Sarge had found out that his superiors had been intentionally misleading him.  While he had felt that decision was the right call, Kimball knew more than anyone that it had not been an easy one for him to make given his sense of loyalty.  In that particular case, Sarge felt they had more than enough betrayed his trust when they had sent his subordinates out to die on a completely unnecessary mission.  But, that didn’t mean the older man had made even that decision lightly.

“If it _does_ turn out to be Tucker and Caboose?” Sarge began, motioning to the doors once more, “You gonna yell at Tucker more for coming up with the whole dang plan to start with?”

Kimball frowned and glanced over at Junior, who was now gesturing wildly in what appeared to be a rather lively conversation with a nodding C.T. and an equally enthusiastic hand-waving Andersmith.

“I suppose that will depend on the circumstances.” She finally admitted to the senior soldier, “If only one of them comes back, or they’re grievously injured…”

Yes, she would be a lot more likely to yell and be angry if they made Junior or any of the other Resistance members worried and upset.

“I think you’d probably have to get in line, in that case.” North joked from nearby while Sarge nodded his head quickly in agreement with the sentiment.

The former Freelancer had been watching the exchange between Sarge and Kimball with a fond look in his pale blue eyes, as if he’d known all along that the whole thing could be easily sorted out with just a few words.

The Resistance group had become a tightly knit, oddball family in a way.  The notion was enough to make Kimball feel oddly touched.

It was really only a few seconds later that they ended up getting their answer, Tex and York walking through the opening doors with a handful of rather haggard-looking people in tow.  Three of the armored figures she recognized right away.

Caboose was waving enthusiastically with Freckles in one hand, a huge grin on his face.  Beyond some smudges on his blue armor, he looked no worse for wear regardless of what exactly he had been through these past few days.

Considering how Caboose had looked the first time she had seen him approach her in the tunnels all those years ago, as a sad and dejected Throwaway with far too many cuts and bruises all over, anytime that she saw the younger Resistance fighter in a good mood always made her rather grateful.  This particular instance was no exception.

Nearby him, helping to keep Tucker standing upright, was a more worse-for-wear looking Agent Washington.  Both he and the teal-armored fighter seemed to be the worst off of the bunch given the various dents and marks covering their armor.

Given how the Freelancer had one of Tucker’s arms looped over his shoulder and the obvious limp that Tucker was sporting, not to mention what appeared to be an actual hole in his lower right leg armor that still had traces of dried blood splattered around it, it seemed as if Tucker hadn’t managed to avoid injury as well as his younger teammate had.

Kimball frowned slightly, wondering if she shouldn’t get someone to send for Doctor Grey while the reunion was just starting.

A woman in silver armor was talking to Tex animatedly, as if walking into a concealed bunker she had most likely never seen before was the most perfectly normal thing in the world.  It was fairly obvious given the casual way that the black-armored Freelancer was responding to their discussion that the two somehow knew each other.

Behind the two of them was a less sure-looking man in gold-trimmed white armor.  Kimball honestly couldn’t place either of the two strangers, although odds were good they were both with Above Ground at some point.

Floating over by York, and apparently in a rather familiar discussion with him as well, was a miniature green form.  It didn’t take her too long to recognize the form as an A.I. given what she had heard about them from the former Freelancers and having seen one in person herself with Wyoming’s Fragment partner, Gamma.

By the large grin on York’s face, no doubt this particular Fragment was Delta, his former A.I. partner that the brunette still affectionately called “D” at times when he was reminiscing about his past.

Twinkling into view right over Tucker was a similar armored holographic figure, this one clad in purple.  It was almost as if the A.I. was scanning the unfamiliar faces in front of him as soon as he was visible, looking for someone.

“I don’t believe it.” She heard North whisper behind her, his voice nearly catching at the sudden emotion swelling up in it, “ _Theta!_ ”

“North!”

The tiny figure had spotted him as well, and suddenly North was running past Kimball and Sarge in a blur.  A sound that almost could be described as a combination of laughter and a sob of relief raced past the former Freelancer’s throat as he stopped just in front of Washington and Tucker, attention focused entirely for that moment on the A.I. who was now floating at eye-level with him with hands outstretched as if he wanted to give the blonde’s nose a hug

It was oddly touching despite how it might appear absurd to someone who didn’t know that they were watching a reunion that was long overdue given the size differences of the two, particularly with North also having his arms wide open as if wanting to hug the Fragment as well.

“I thought you had…” Theta trailed off, almost sobbing, and North smiled reassuringly.

“I know.  I’m sorry.” He was saying, almost looking as though he were about to tear up at any second, “I never meant to leave you behind.”

“You wouldn’t have.  I know.” The childlike A.I. nodded as if trying to assure North desperately of that fact, “I tried being brave.  Even when it was lonely.  I tried to be helpful!”

“Fucking awesome was what he was.” Tucker cut in with a grin, and Theta seemed both bashful at the praise and grateful for it.

“Always has been.” For all intents and purposes, North had the look of a proud parent as he and Theta moved to the side to continue speaking together.

Tucker turned from the unexpected reunion of the two partners to regard everyone else with a grin.

He had barely gotten out a _“Miss us?”_ remark when his eyes landed on his son, already racing forward to greet him just ahead of Tucker’s teammates including Caboose, who somehow in the excitement of the event seemed to forget that he’d actually been with Tucker the whole time.  Both Donut and Lopez joined in as well, although the robot seemed content with staying on the outside of the swarming group of humans and one alien child.

“Junior!  I fucking missed _you_ the most!” Tucker pulled away from Washington and hobbled forward just as Junior’s teal blur was within reach.

Tucker dropped to the ground only wincing slightly at the pain that seemed to jostle his leg injury, enveloping the child in a relieved, bone-crushingly tight hug in the midst of the small crowd around them.  Washington looked awkward standing so close to the display, but the Freelancer was smiling slightly all the same at it.

Kimball and Sarge exchanged a knowing look between the two of them then, both realizing that she wouldn’t be yelling at anyone on account of this.  There was a playful smirk on Sarge’s face, and she had a feeling it was probably mirroring the one on her own.

There were certainly a hell of a lot of questions to ask later, but for right now?  Kimball was more relieved than she had been for quite some time, and she didn’t really want to ruin that for anyone else yet either.

Tex watched the exchanges quietly, before heading over to the leader of the Resistance with the two people still unfamiliar to Kimball following her as well.

“The ground transport’s securely squared away along with the air one.” The black-armored fighter said in her usual way of no-nonsense greeting, her helmet’s dark visor still turned in the direction of the reunions.

Kimball nodded her thanks, though the possibility of that _not_ being the case hadn’t even crossed her mind to begin with.  After all, Tex was always incredibly thorough when it came to tying up loose ends.

If the transport was something that the redhead felt would be useful to them later on, it would be hidden away until it was needed.  If it had been damaged beyond repair or seemed to be too much of a risk, anything that was remotely salvageable would have been stripped away and then the vehicle itself somehow destroyed.

North, York, and the two miniature armored Fragments were now in a very animated discussion that she couldn’t bring herself to intrude on just yet given how relieved all of them looked.  The same could be said with Tucker, Junior, and the teal-armored fighter’s comrades.

“I know Agent Washington already, and obviously you Freelancers know the A.I.s.” Kimball managed to pull her gaze reluctantly away from the happy scene, “But who are these two?”

The former Freelancer motioned to the silver-armored woman who nodded her head quickly before removing her helmet entirely, “This is the pilot who hauled Tucker’s ass out of the fire.” Tex explained, “Four Seven Niner used to work for Project Freelancer.”

“Job’s gone to shit in more ways than I can count since then, though.” The dark-haired woman supplied herself, raising an eyebrow, “Can’t say I wasn’t already looking around for different employment when this opportunity came along.”

Kimball smiled slightly, noting how relaxed the Freelancers in their midst seemed to be with Four Seven Niner’s presence here and taking that as an encouraging sign.  If Tex in particular thought someone was a threat, she would make it known right away.  As would North and the others, now that she thought about it.

“It’s because of you this reunion took place then.” She told the pilot conversationally, “Thank you.”

Kimball motioned to Junior and Tucker again in particular, surrounded in a tight knit circle of other fighters that seemed to all apparently be trying to talk at the same time given the cacophony of sound wafting towards them from that direction.  The father was still clutching on to his son tightly, as if afraid to let him go again given everything that had happened.

The tanned pilot shrugged indifferently, “It’s no biggie.  Like I said, I had plenty of free time.” There was a gleam in her eyes following that remark though, “But I’d be more than willing to call it even if you let me pilot that air transport once it is in tip-top shape again.”

“We might have need of that later on, actually.” Kimball replied, sparing looks with both Tex and Sarge.

After all, the transport could perhaps play a vital role in their upcoming strategies and no one in the Resistance was incredibly capable as a pilot given how most of them had spent their lives completely underground up until now.

Volleyball had done a surprisingly decent job with piloting considering she had never flown before during the rescue mission apparently, but her takeoffs and landings were exceedingly bumpy to say the least given that lack of expertise and practice.  It was probably a miracle that the transport had actually been capable of flying at all following its crash into a military base.

“I’d like to look her over then too, if that would be possible.” The Above Grounder pilot offered, “I like knowing my machines inside and out.”

“Might be good to have you meet up with Jensen and Lopez later then.” Sarge spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face, “Those two have been tinkering with the thing since we got back.”

Four Seven Niner nodded her head in agreement, her gaze going back to Tucker and Junior moments later, “So, that’s his kid, huh?” She asked conversationally, “The family resemblance in the armor is pretty neat.”

Sarge scoffed, “Still not sure why you’d want any kind of armor made out of completely blue shades.” He muttered with a slight smirk as he shrugged, “But, whatever floats their boats.  I guess.”

Tex had been turning to leave just then, having apparently decided that her part in the conversation was over with following Four Seven Niner’s introduction.  She paused in mid-step however, to tilt her head questioningly in Kimball’s direction once more, “Is Doctor Grey at the clinic area now?”

Kimball nodded, “As far as I know.  Why?”

Tex motioned with a jerk of her thumb in Tucker’s direction, “That idiot got himself shot in the leg earlier.” She stated, causing Kimball to remember her earlier observation of Tucker limping, “Washington treated it decently enough when it happened, but he should still get it looked over.”

That was an assessment she could agree with.  Kimball turned to glance towards Tucker once more.  He had definitely been walking slower when he had first come in, and had even been leaning on Agent Washington at the time.  But, reuniting with Junior had apparently caused the injury to completely escape his mind for the time being.  Not that she could really blame him given how tense the separation had been for him.

“I promised the worrywart that I would get her to examine Tucker as soon as we got back to the bunker.” Tex was glancing over at Washington with what was no doubt probably a whole lot of amusement underneath her helmet, “Probably should just get it over with now.”

“Thank you, Tex.” Kimball stated quietly, grateful as well that the former Freelancer had volunteered to do so in the first place.

With that, Tex was gone, leaving Four Seven Niner standing there with Sarge and her along with the gold-trimmed blonde who hadn’t been introduced yet.  The pilot already looked a bit bored, quickly turning her attention to the goings-on elsewhere in that area of the bunker, apparently not quite in the mood for chit-chat with people she had only just met.

The middle-aged man standing awkwardly nearby seemed to still be more than just a little overwhelmed by everything, his face ashen enough at the moment to make one think there was a possibility he could faint if particularly startled by some huge shock.

Kimball cleared her throat to catch his attention, “I’m sorry, but you are?”

However, the man was suddenly staring past her.  Instead, he was currently gaping at Sarge.  The older Resistance fighter now apparently also regarding the stranger with an almost equal amount of disbelief crossing over his features.

“S—Sarge?” The person finally said, an obvious accent to his voice, “I don’t believe it!  _You’re_ with the Resistance now, of all things?”

“I honestly can’t believe you haven’t gotten shot yet, Doyle.” Sarge was chuckling even as he spoke, shaking his head, “Did you think I had finally retired all these years or something?”

“W—well, you did have a lot of unused vacation time.” The man Sarge named as Doyle replied.

The former Above Grounder sighed, “I remember.  You kept hounding me about how I was going to have to take a whole year off or some shit or else I’d lose it.”

Clearly, the two had some kind of familiarity with one another during Sarge’s Above Ground days given this conversation.

Despite the anecdotal humor this topic seemed to have given the brief glimpse of relief flashing through Doyle’s eyes, one look around the space they were currently standing in was enough to bring him fully back into the present.

He sighed and slumped his shoulders at the same time, “I am desperately wishing I had taken my own advice and used mine when I had the chance.”

Sarge clapped the Above Grounder on the back in what was probably meant to be a sympathetic gesture, though he apparently had caught the other off-guard as he jumped slightly at the contact and had to do an odd skip-step to stay standing upright.

The older man turned to Kimball, and his face had a more serious look to it than the one he had been wearing a second ago, “The three of us should probably talk somewhere private, now that we know what was going on here.”

She caught on to what the leader of Red Team was really trying to say easily enough.  Whoever this Doyle person was, he was most likely more than just a mere acquaintance from Sarge’s past.  Someone from Above Ground administration then, given his comments on knowing about acquired vacation time and the like?  How Tucker and company had happened upon him was also a mystery.

She gave a slight nod to Sarge’s suggestion, distancing herself for the moment from the good news the last few events had brought up as the more dire situation they were still dealing with came back into focus with sharp clarity.

Moments like this were excellent for providing hope when it was needed, but they also further reminded her why it was important to focus on making sure they would get the chance to have more of them later on.

*****

It was probably a very long time before Grif was really _with it_ enough to be exceedingly aware of, well, _anything_.

He was fairly certain he was unconscious a lot of the time, or drifting always quite near it.  Perhaps most of the time the Slums dweller had been on the verge of being awake, but always just a moment away from slipping back into _not_ being so.

Kind of like that time when Kai had gotten that really bad cough and fever after they’d been forced to move to Low Town.  She had been stuck in bed for days, sweaty and mumbling incoherently.  Even when Kai had her eyes open back then they were glassy, and he had known she hadn’t seen him hovering there like an unhelpful idiot because she would always call out for their mom instead even though she knew as well as he did by then that there was no fucking way she would have been there.

Come to think of it, and Grif knew that he still wasn’t in a fully awake state of mind because this was some random ass shit to be thinking about, that was around the first time he had really met Tucker and his mom too.

Apparently word had somehow gone through the apartment building that one of the kids living there on their own was in a bad way, and Tucker’s mom had pretty much forced her way inside with her son in tow to check up on them.  Kai had recovered faster under Tucker’s mom’s more knowledgeable supervision.  Apparently, Tucker had been rather sickly as a baby, which he was quick to get embarrassed about whenever his mother brought it up.

That encounter had pretty much given the two Grif siblings a friend-for-life in Tucker.  Tucker’s mom had been such a nice lady, and the closest thing Grif and Kai had had to a mom as well in Low Town.  What had happened to her was more than just awful.

Grif absentmindedly wondered if it was some kind of sign that he had thought about her even more now than usual.  He missed her truly, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to see her again just yet.

Dexter Grif wasn’t really sure of too much at all after a point.  Honestly, maybe the poor imitation of Felix had finally just pushed too far with his carving attempts and Grif wasn’t going to snap back into reality anytime soon.

He recalled _blackness, red, something flashing, always more red_.  Failing that, he lived in weird dreams and nightmares.  Saw twisted memories of things he didn’t _think_ had actually happened, but still felt pretty brutally real all the same.

All he really knew was that there was always _pain_ throughout the whole fucking thing.  Either so much that if he could have, he would have screamed.  He probably did, in fact.  He got numb to even that after a while.  The pain always lingering in the background in a teasing _‘don’t think you’ll get through this!’_ sort of way.

Later on, intermittently through the pain, Grif did find odd, almost jarringly so, moments where he didn’t feel much of anything.  Numb, but almost like _floating_ too in a way.

Sometimes, when he tried opening his eyes he could make out blurry shapes and an unfamiliar room.  It was no longer the plain space with too much red everywhere, thankfully.

He could vaguely hear familiar voices that weren’t belonging to murderous assholes talking softly nearby, but too indistinct to make out who they belonged to.  On occasion, there were touches too that were always followed with a burst of agony unless he was feeling particular float-y when they happened.  Still, the touches were light and hesitant, but with purpose.

There was even a familiar grip on his hand for what felt like hours on end.  Grif couldn’t place why it was as comforting as it was, but during those moments it was probably his favorite damn contact in the whole world.  He even managed to weakly grip tighter a few times when they would pull away as if to leave, just to keep the warm pressure lingering there a bit longer.  Even the nightmares didn’t seem as bad then, drifting into unaltered memories if the contact stayed long enough.

But, honestly?  Even in those more ‘lucid’ moments, he just wanted to sleep.  He’d never been one to try to fight the urge to nap before, and it seemed like a pretty impossible task to do so now.  His whole being _craved_ it, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to have learned later on if even those odd pseudo-waking moments he had that felt like hours at the time they occurred were probably only mere seconds at best.  Glimpses he’d never catch the full story of, his body far too exhausted and hurt to really care.

For all he knew, he had _never_ actually left that plain space and he was just slowly bleeding out, hallucinating massively as a result.  It wasn’t a pleasant possibility, so he tried not to focus on it.  Best to just sleep, to listen to the soothing voices and let the floating sensation take him away.

Given that, Grif definitely _did_ know when it was he actually had officially woken up.  Mostly because there was a _world_ of difference between the two states.

Firstly, fully waking up helped the fog dissipate from his mind.  He was suddenly very much awake, and he fucking _hurt_.  Pretty much everywhere, honestly.  Which was fairly par the course for what he remembered the last time he’d been more or less conscious.  This whole experience further showcased to him why waking up was fucking awful when you were in a deep sleep.  He would have to remember to hide a lot better if he ever got the chance to have a good nap after dinner again just to avoid it.

Secondly, he was now very much aware that he was, in fact, not in that torture room at all anymore.  There had not been beige paint on the ceiling there, nor antique furniture that probably cost more than his whole fucking apartment had.  There certainly hadn’t been a bed in that place.  Even if there had been, his torturers would have probably slept in it themselves just to be mocking assholes instead of laying him on it like he was currently.

Grif was slowly processing these things as he _was_ just coming out of a deep, deep sleep after all, so he hadn’t yet noticed the purple-armored brunette that had been standing at his bedside.  At least not until the glasses-wearing man in question leaned directly over Grif’s face as if to make sure that the Resistance fighter really was in fact staring around awake.  A needle in the man’s hand was hovering there as well.

The surprise up-close face-to-face when his brain wasn’t yet ready for it, and the needle in view caused a sudden quickening of Grif’s heart and he tried shifting away with a startled cry-moan pathetically coming out of his scratchy throat.  Suddenly he envisioned a flash of metal, much thicker and wider, slicing down and up in arcs _everywhere._

The movement did _not_ agree with his body, and there were white splotches filling his vision.  Oh, man, did he want to scream—

“Oh, sorry about that, Grif!” The man winced at the grimace suddenly overtaking Grif’s face himself, apology sincere as the medical needle disappeared from view and he rested a gentle hand on Grif’s shoulder to halt his movement all the while careful not to press too hard, “I just wasn’t sure if you were awake or not.  You’ve been out of it for awhile.”

A second later he recognized the friendly face as belonging to Doc, one of Simmons’ teammates.  The pink glasses, though, were new from the last time he had seen him, and absentmindedly caused Grif to be reminded of Donut.

“D—Doc?” Grif blinked, mind still sluggish and everything very much hurting though it was sort of getting hazy again now.  It didn’t take him too long to figure out that the empty shot Doc had been holding before was probably some kind of very potent painkiller, “Where…?  What…?”

His eyes were darting around, trying to take in everything and his voice kept trailing off as a result.  Were they safe?  Was this some really bizarre trick or—?

“It’s all right, Grif.” Doc seemed to understand his panic even though he really wasn’t doing a good job voicing it just then, his tone soothing, “We got you out.  You still need a bit more recuperating time, though.”

From how the tan man felt, that was probably a major understatement.  But perhaps the medic just liked being overly optimistic, given his usual cheerful personality.

One question answered then.  At least Grif felt minimally more relaxed.  That or those painkillers were kicking in really quick because, _fuck it_ , he was feeling sleepy again.

“You’ve been unconscious for a few days now.” Doc continued, seeming to debate in his head exactly how much he should be telling Grif as he was talking, “You were in a really bad shape, so we couldn’t move you to the Resistance hideout.”

He sort of had figured that much out already, “So, where—?”

Doc turned his head away then, looking at something or someone slightly out of view questioningly.

Grif managed, with extreme effort, to get his eyes to focus past the foot of the bed.  His voice becoming useless in his throat when he saw the person standing hesitatingly in the doorway because, _fuck it again_ , they always seemed to have the worst timed meet-ups.

Simmons was wringing his hands together, looking oddly timid under Grif’s gaze, “Th—this is my house, Grif.” He said haltingly, in way of explanation.

Just as the remark of _“Shit,_ house _?  You must be loaded, Simmons!”_ died on his lips because he really didn’t have enough energy to vocalize an exclamation yet, Simmons elaborated as if the Slums dweller had anyways, “I—I mean, it’s my parents’!  But my dad stopped living here years ago.”

“It was the closest place we could move you to.” Doc elaborated further as Simmons came into the room.

The cyborg stopped in front of a chair that had been pulled up to Grif’s bedside, eyes automatically moving from the myriad questions in Grif’s brown eyes down to his hand, the redhead’s own twitching forward before he pulled it back awkwardly.  Grif thought of the warm grip from the recent past that he could still remember fairly well, feeling oddly upset at Simmons for stopping.

He felt hazy again, and knew he probably wasn’t going to be awake for much longer.  In all honesty, it was probably a good sign that he had gotten this far.

Because of that haze, Grif couldn’t help but ask quickly, “The others?”

Had Bitters and Matthews actually made it okay after all of that shit?  Had Kai, Tucker, or any of the other Resistance fighters gotten caught as well?

He’d been pretty much out of the loop once he’d gotten caught by Felix, after all.  He didn’t know what had happened to everyone else after that.  Though he’d sort of suspected if they had been captured, Felix or one of the other mercenaries probably would have enjoyed rubbing it in his face during one of his torture sessions.  So many of those nightmares had been about the alternative that…

Simmons seemed to follow his train of thought, “They’re okay, Grif.” He assured him.

That would have to do for now, Grif supposed.  He knew Simmons would have probably visibly shown it if he was hiding something major from him in terms of body language cues since he sucked at lying, “What about…the bomb?”

“We…” Simmons paused, “We still don’t know where it is, but we’re looking for it.  It won’t be much longer.”

There had definitely been a moment’s hesitation in the Above Grounder’s reply.  Even Doc looked at Simmons questioningly then, though he said nothing.

Maybe Simmons hadn’t thought whatever was going on with that search yet was something Grif needed to know about.  The Above Grounder probably felt bad that he didn’t have any good news on that front.  But, that would most likely have to wait to be confirmed later.

At least the situation didn’t seem to be any _direr_ than it had been before from what he could tell given the two men’s reactions to his question.  Seemed to still be the same level of suck as always.  At least as far as Simmons seemed to know, Kai and the others were all right.

He felt his eyes tearing up slightly, but his arms hurt too much to try to wipe at them which just made it irritatingly worse, “T—thanks.”

“No problem!” Doc stated happily, nodding with a smile, “I’ll go get you some orange juice.”

Grif couldn’t help but smile slightly considering how that inadvertently brought up recollections of Caboose’s declaration of the beverage being his favorite drink before, or how Sarge would usually use it as some kind of symbolic threat to his person.

Oddly enough, it was good to know they were okay too so far.

Simmons gave him a small, wavering smile and nearly reached for his hand again before annoyingly pulling away once more, “Try to get some more rest, Grif.”

His eyes were drooping closed even before the words had left his friend’s mouth completely.  Grif was still incredibly anxious and hurting, but feeling more relieved than he had in a long while.

Hopefully this nap would be a better one.

*****

The door closed behind him softly and Simmons had to resist the urge to immediately open it again, just to make sure that Grif was still sleeping.  His hand was still resting by the panel even, damn it!

Grif had woken up, fully and completely, for the first time since they had brought the Resistance fighter here to Simmons’ home and set him up in his mother’s room.  In a way, Simmons was upset that Grif had done so just after Doc had given him another dose of painkillers, but he also knew there’d be time for talking later.

After all, the Slums resident finally waking up was a pretty good sign as far as his recovery in general was concerned.  It was for the best right now to let Grif rest as much as he could whenever possible, no matter how badly Simmons _wanted_ him to do the opposite.

So, the cyborg finally tore his hand away from the door.  Instead, he turned to face Doc, who had currently been regarding the redhead rather thoughtfully.

At length, his friend smiled, “It’s good that he’s woken up, Simmons.”

The Above Grounder couldn’t help but smile back then, his organic eye misting and his cybernetic one stinging as a result of that same urge, “I—I know, Doc.”

“Though he probably shouldn’t be moving around too much for some time yet.” The medic reminded him.

The cyborg’s shoulders slumped slightly, knowing exactly what Doc meant by that statement.  Grif had been cut, shocked, and beaten over an extended period of time.  Those types of constant and serious injuries would take time to heal, even with current medical technology being what it was.

Perhaps it would have been less if they could have taken him to a proper hospital or medical facility, but they had to make do with the medical technology they had at their disposal currently given the situation.  A few more days rest at the very least would do wonders for not jostling Grif’s lacerations to the point where they reopened again, if nothing else.

Truthfully, they had been some of his worst injuries.  A crisscross patchwork of cuts that were going to scar over like some twisted puzzle.  A constant reminder for Grif to carry of what had happened.  Many of the burns would leave permanent etchings too, but at least there were some of those that would only be temporary and they weren’t nearly covering every inch of his body like the cuts were

That asshole with the knife had gotten off way too easy with just the one bullet Carolina had put into him.

“I…I know that too, Doc.” Simmons told him with a sigh.

Doc was assessing him with a knowing look, “Is that why you told him we still didn’t know the relic’s location?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory.  More sympathetic and understanding really, but even so Simmons couldn’t help but flinch at the medic’s question regarding his lie of omission to Grif.  The cyborg _had_ felt bad about covering up that three days ago the location of the alien relic had finally been found and that now, as a result, the next strategy was being planned out.

There was even more of a sense of urgency now in particular since the Council Chairman had announced preparation for a very “special event” that was about to occur.  No guess was needed to recognize that that meant the final stages of his coup were about to be put into place.

But, at the same time?

“If Grif knew, he would try to do something stubborn and stupid.” Simmons remarked honestly, “And if he did that, he could…”

Make his injuries even worse, or get killed as a direct result of them.  The redhead had no doubt that if Grif knew what was going on with the Resistance, he’d insist on going and in his condition that could only end badly.

Simmons didn’t want that to happen.  He _couldn’t_ let that happen.  Not after so many people had risked their lives to get Grif back.  Not while they were on the verge of fucking losing _everything_.

Doc patted his shoulder consolingly, effectively cutting off his troubled thoughts for the moment.

“It’s all right, Simmons.  I understand.” He told him gently, though he added a second later, “You’ll have to tell Grif sooner or later, but you’re right.  Since he _just_ woke up, his recovery should take top priority.”

The maroon-armored soldier let out a shaky breath just then, looking at his friend gratefully, “Thanks, Doc.”

Doc smiled back, “You’re welcome!” He tilted his head questioningly, “Want some orange juice too?”

At least the medic wasn’t trying to actively pour it onto open wounds anymore.

For once, Simmons wasn’t bewildered by Doc’s insistence on orange juice as a magical cure-all because his throat was still horribly dry as it was.  Besides, busying himself with any kind of task, even if it was just something simple like drinking a beverage, would hopefully help the redhead sort out just what he would say the next time Grif was awake.

Simmons had a sneaking suspicion that no matter how much he prepared for that conversation in his head, he would _still_ end up being a nervous wreck though.

Somehow, despite the self-loathing that sort of thought usually brought up in him, the cyborg couldn’t help but smile slightly.  At least he still had the opportunity to talk to Grif, and he was more grateful for that than he could probably ever put into words.

Simmons wiped his hand over his eyes hastily again as he nodded in response to Doc’s question.

*****

“So, did you hear?”

Bitters glared angrily at Palomo as the other young man hung upside down off of his cot, grinning at him.

The lieutenant was rather glad that Doctor Grey had _finally_ given him the okay to move around, as he was fairly certain that if she hadn’t he would still be in bed under a threat of extra sharp needles the next time he needed an injection.  Plus, Palomo would have landed right on top of him when he vault-jumped onto the cot and flipped over into his current position.

Just like back when they had been kids and his constant sleepovers pretty much meant that Bitters and his younger siblings always had a permanent extra roommate.

Seriously, that had hurt _enough_ when they were kids given the other boy’s tendency to somehow _always_ land on his elbows.  Bitters had even started rumors that he had gotten beaten up by older kids just to make himself seem more intimidating.  Admitting you got accidentally hit in the eye just because your friend couldn’t check to see if someone was still sleeping or not before doing a cannon dive onto a mattress was way too embarrassing.

Palomo hadn’t even bothered taking off his aqua-trimmed armor this time around, so it would have been even _worse_ than that.

“Heard about what, exactly?”

Currently Bitters was alternating between wanting to glare some more at his friend, both for the bursting-in-to-jump-on-his-cot action and for throwing his boots at his head as he did so, and trying to peer inside said boots just to make sure that Palomo hadn’t stuck anything weird in them.

He was honestly still trying to figure out why the other young man had thought storing empty pudding cups in shoes when growing up had been such a brilliant idea.

“Oh, come on!  You already know!” Palomo pouted up at him, brown eyes accusing.

Bitters sighed, already having a pretty good idea as to what Palomo was referring to.  Yes, given that, he already knew about it due to the major commotions that had been happening throughout the bunker.  News traveled fast amongst anxious, nervous people desperate for any kind of information.

“If you already suspected that I knew, why ask the fucking question in the first place?”

Palomo scoffed, “Because it’s more fun that way.” He rolled his eyes to add emphasis to how silly Bitters was for having not gotten that, “Obviously.”

His childhood friend sat up on the cot with his legs swinging over the side, absentmindedly kicking them up in the air.  Bitters was torn between twitching an eye in annoyance or sighing in exasperation whenever the private’s feet hit the ground as he’d constantly wince with the motion.  The cot was way too low to the ground for most people to keep doing that.

“You mean like how it was more fun when you told me to ‘ _suck it!_ ’ because I couldn’t go on that rescue mission all of you morons went on?” Bitters asked, raising a brown eyebrow.

“Well, weren’t you glad it all turned out okay?” Palomo reasoned, apparently not picking up on the sharper tone that had crept into Bitters’ voice at his last remark.

For starters, the ‘ _suck it_ ’ commentary hadn’t really been necessary in the slightest.  Honestly, Bitters had long since accepted that Palomo was just frustratingly idiotic when it came to what he considered to be perfectly good pep talks.

“That’s beside the point, fuck face!”

Yeah, Bitters _was_ glad that things had worked out regarding the rescue mission.  Well, worked out as far as they could tell currently.

Junior was back safe and sound, at least physically.  That was pretty great news in and of itself, although Kaikaina had remarked that the little kid had been noticeably clingier since coming back.

Hell, he’d even stayed with _Bitters_ on occasion when everyone else was busy, and Bitters knew he wasn’t exactly a joy to be around nowadays in particular.  So that was probably saying something given that the boy was understandably a little apprehensive about the makeshift clinic given what he had gone through besides.

Not only that, but the Resistance actually got an air transport in the bargain thanks to some kickass former Freelancers and one way too crazy gun-loving sergeant.

They even received word that, while he apparently couldn’t be brought back here yet due to all of the recent events happening in the area, Captain Grif wasn’t in Above Ground military custody anymore.  Which also meant that he wasn’t dead either.  Bitters damn well thought that Matthews nearly fainted at that particular news.

Plus, none of his idiot friends or their apparently equally suicidal superiors had gotten killed either.  By all accounts, he should have been pleasantly surprised, relieved, and _happy even_ at the news.  Truthfully?  He was in a lot of ways.

But, he was also just fucking _pissed_ too!

Pissed because Captain Tucker had come up with the whole thing.  If he hadn’t just come back like he had, which he was fairly certain now was Palomo’s news, then Junior would have been left an orphan and they would have been down _two_ captains since Captain Caboose had been with him as well.

Pissed because anything and everything could have gone wrong during the mission. If it had?  A lot of people that he had come to care for, however begrudgingly, could have died as a result.  Annoying as he often was, Palomo was pretty much _family_ now for all intents and purposes or, at any rate, the closest thing Bitters had left to one.  The lieutenant was even slowly starting to view the other new recruits and the more experienced eccentric members of the Red and Blue Teams the same way.

Bitters thought of the silly ‘Get Well’ card that Captain Donut had made all of them sign for him, and sighed.  It was tucked away in a safe spot even though he would _never_ admit he had held onto the damn thing.

Honestly, in a way, he was grateful that all of the rescue mission shit had gone down when Doctor Grey had been keeping Matthews from active duty.  Otherwise, Bitters suspected the suck-up would have immediately gone on the mission with Captain Tucker if he had gotten wind of it.

As it stood, his teammate had very nearly tried going along with Kaikaina and Volleyball when they had decided to take part in Sarge’s impromptu mission, which was pretty much the main reason why he hadn’t seen Matthews at all in recent days.  Which was something else that upset him, but Bitters _really_ didn’t want to dwell on it or think too much on _why_ just yet.

Of course, Bitters was still more pissed off at himself than anything else.

If he hadn’t gotten fucking injured like he had when they’d first arrived topside, one aspect of the rescue mission at least would have become completely irrelevant.  If Bitters hadn’t been fucking injured and on goddamned bed rest, he would have been out there potentially getting killed or shot at for what was partially _his_ mistake instead of one of his friends.

A lot of the time, it was just fucking _easier_ to deal with the anger now than facing his regrets and worries.  It seemed even good news could potentially bring his anger out.  Maybe Palomo had been right about his name with his lame-ass joke about how Bitters was just naturally always going to be “bitter.”

“Oh, I bet you’re just jealous that you didn’t get to see the reunions.” Palomo interjected with a knowing, sage-like nod.

“You mean with Captain Tucker and Junior?” Bitters asked.

The dark-skinned young man seemed to have apparently decided that this was in fact the reasoning behind Bitters’ most recent outburst, informing him: “Agent North Dakota reunited with his A.I. kid too!”

Palomo was beaming at the news despite how neither of them had personally known North’s A.I. partner Theta beforehand like they had known Junior.  Though, given how North was such a friendly guy who pretty much everyone in the Resistance liked, it was easy enough to be happy for him in this circumstance.

The private continued on, adding a sympathetic, “It’s okay though, Bitters.  I just heard about it later from Andersmith myself so we’re in the same boat there.” He gestured to the boots that Bitters had just pulled on as they were talking, “I had to get those for you.  You know, once I remembered where they were and all!”

He was fairly certain asking Palomo as he laughed at whatever odd recollection that was bringing up to himself why the aqua-trimmed fighter hadn’t just stored said boots in an obvious place when Doctor Grey had given them to him to blackmail Bitters with earlier, such as his storage locker, would lead to even more eye-twitching.

Still, he was inwardly grateful that the doctor had allowed Palomo to give Bitters back his boots in the first place.  Doctor Grey had certainly helped him recover, yes, but he didn’t really want to stick around her place of business any longer than necessary due to her less than typical bedside manner.

“We can say hello later though!” Palomo assured his friend with a nod once he had stopped laughing, explaining, “Captain Donut says he wants to have a little bit of a celebration with everyone before the big operation anyways.  For both the plan being successful and for you getting back to duty too!”

Bitters frowned, not really sure that last one in particular was _anything_ worth celebrating considering what his mistake had nearly cost.

But, given the oddly hopeful look in Palomo’s eyes, he sighed, “Well, I guess it’s good to have one more positive thing happen before we all get blown up.”

Besides, he knew that was more than likely also a very large factor in the pink-armored Captain Donut’s reasoning for wanting a celebration party of sorts.  Who knew if they would even have any sort of opportunity for another one beyond now given what they were going up against?

Palomo nodded his head in quick agreement before a curious look flashed over his features as if he had just realized something he maybe should have earlier, “I’m surprised Matthews didn’t stop by again to see you out of the clinic.”

They were just then at the door to the exit, and despite wanting to get the hell out of there before the good-but-crazy-as-fuck doctor changed her mind, Bitters paused at the mention of his teammate.

Palomo, surprisingly observant at the _worst_ possible times it seemed, looked at him critically then, “Did you do something?”

That was a loaded question.

On one hand, things had been _awkward_ since he had practically forced Matthews to lay on the cot with him awhile back.  The whole thing had been made about ten times worse when Doctor Grey apparently found them both asleep hours later.  They had woken up to a safe sex pamphlet along with a box of condoms and a tube of lube resting close by.  She gave them her cheerful reassurances later that if they had any questions they shouldn’t be afraid to ask.

Her _“I’d just wait until Bitters has healed up more to get_ really _hot and heavy if I were you!”_ comment had nearly caused the auburn-haired Matthews to pass out on the spot.

Despite all of that though, Bitters had been surprised to find that the other lieutenant would still visit and sit with him frequently afterwards.  In fact, he had even been both thankful and relieved.  Bitters would have probably made even more of a mess of things if he’d somehow fucked up a dynamic that he’d gotten used to and comfortable with since joining the Resistance.

Things between the two of them had gotten considerably worse though when they had found out about the rescue plan.  Matthews had admitted to thinking about possibly joining Kaikaina and Volleyball despite Doctor Grey’s advice that the lieutenant refrain from stressful physical activity for a little longer.

It had turned into a yelling match with Bitters calling him a _kiss-ass idiot_ and threatening to tie Matthews to the cot if he was _really_ that moronic.  Which, in turn, had brought down onto him alone the wrath of Doctor Grey since she had shown up just at his shouting.  That incident ended with her promising that Bitters would be getting a tranquilizer in a very specific area of his body if he continued on disturbing her other patients.

Matthews at first had shouted back just as much as Bitters had during that particular exchange, only to grow quieter the more berserk Bitters got until he started to look like a petulant child stewing over a particularly nasty scolding.  Afterwards, the younger man had pretty much run from the scene red-faced both from anger and crying.

Thankfully though, from Bitters’ perspective, their argument had run into the prepping time Sarge and the others had allotted for themselves.  So, the rescue mission had already been put into motion without Matthews getting the chance to sign up for the potential idiocy too.

Honestly, Bitters _had_ felt rather awful about that.  His own anger and frustration at his inability to act as well as his concern for his friends had just sort of exploded out when Matthews confided in him.

The Slums dweller hadn’t thought _any_ part of the rescue mission was a really good idea, and Bitters still stood by his not having wanted the other lieutenant to participate.  Truthfully, he would have told any of the other lieutenants similarly had they at all deigned to actually discuss their plans with him too.  But, Bitters more than likely could’ve handled it a hell of a lot better than he had.

He had wanted to apologize to his teammate for a lot of things afterwards.  Naturally though, Matthews had used getting back on full-duty as an excuse to devote his time to busywork, ass-kissing, and just in general avoiding Bitters.  The auburn-haired fighter was more than likely still upset himself, and just hoping to avoid another massive confrontation with his roommate over the matter.

It wasn’t as if Bitters couldn’t understand that, but it also made him hesitant to even try tracking the other lieutenant down.  He honestly wasn’t sure how he’d react if Matthews was still as angry or upset with him as he had been back then.

Bitters didn’t want confirmation that he had fucked things up too much this time.

“Hey, it’ll be okay!” Palomo apparently noticed the odd grimace and slight shudder that went through Bitters, and he patted his shoulder encouragingly, “If you apologize, Matthews will probably be okay with it!”

“Really?  What makes you think that?” Bitters didn’t want to get _too_ hopeful or optimistic about any kind of advice from Palomo given his friend’s usual track record with that sort of thing.

The private grinned conspiratorially, “ _Well_ ,” Palomo told Bitters in a comical stage-whisper while shrugging, “He’s been wanting me to keep checking in on you since we’ve gotten back.  I really don’t think Matthews would care either way if he was done worrying about you.”

Oddly enough, hearing that made Bitters both regretful ( _yeah, he really should go and fucking apologize soon then_ ) and hopeful ( _maybe he could still salvage it_ ), “Thanks, Palomo.”

“Oh, and if you two decide to _finally_ go all the way?” Palomo winked suggestively just then, “Well, Doctor Grey gave Kaikaina and me pamphlets to pass around!”

That was it.

If they didn’t all die in the next couple of days, Bitters was seriously going to find himself a new group of friends.

*****

“Well, on the plus side?  Since the bullet went clean through and someone did a decent job on the first aid right afterwards, you probably won’t get any horrible infections or lose the leg!”

Tucker raised an eyebrow at the odd flicker of disappointment he saw in the doctor’s eyes at her comment, though it was quickly covered up with her usual way-too-eerily-cheerful voice and eager smile whenever she happened to be discussing what she considered to be fascinating medical issues.

“You seem both relieved _and_ bored at what sounds like pretty good news to me, Doctor Grey.” He told her, which was honestly a rather impressive combination of traits to get your vocal chords to agree on simultaneously.

Junior was still clutching onto his uninjured leg as he had been the entire time the purple-trimmed medical expert was finishing her examination of his earlier wound, his head turning slightly in both adults’ directions every so often as he tried keeping intense focus on their conversation fluttering overhead.

“Oh, well, you know, it’s great that it has healed so well and everything, but nicely healing injuries don’t make for very exciting stories.” The dark-haired woman shrugged indifferently at his comment, the smile still plastered on her face, “I personally find it to be a more interesting job when things are pretty dicey in that department!”

Yep, and it was comments like that which kept Tucker from really trying to talk to Doctor Emily Grey about anything personal.  Or, for that matter, for longer than was absolutely necessary in any given situation.

His son had reached over from his grip on his knee to tug at his hand.  The man glanced down at the alien child, noting for not the first time just how _nervous_ he seemed to be despite his understandable refusal to leave Tucker’s side.  Junior’s eyes were now darting around the infirmary as if expecting something to jump at him from behind a supply crate or one of the patient partitions that had been set up to keep the occupied cots from view. 

The Resistance fighter couldn’t help but wince at his son’s actions despite knowing full well that the check-up had been a good idea.  Besides, a certain pushy Freelancer dick had insisted that he do it.  Washington had somehow even managed to get the scary crazy-ass cybernetic shark lady convinced it was necessary too, so by that point Tucker _really_ hadn’t had much of a choice in the matter.

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel horribly guilty at bringing his son along with him considering that Junior had most likely seen enough of places like this recently.

Doctor Grey seemed to pick up on the gesture, smiling at Junior in a way that was oddly non-disconcerting for the Above Grounder and downright gentle.  Which, truthfully, sort of freaked Tucker out more.  But, he wasn’t going to let his kid or her know that.

“It’s basically close to being completely healed,” Doctor Grey informed him kindly, “I would just try to not run any marathons for the next few days.  Oh, and you might want to resist the urge to poke it with anything sharp and dirty.”

That last comment was met with yet another eyebrow raise from the teal-armored soldier, which seemed to be a pretty natural occurrence in most of his interactions with the doctor, “How many patients have you actually _had_ to tell that to?”

“You’d be surprised!” She shot a sympathetic glance at Junior then, “I think you should be extra cautious though, since it might be in your best interest to avoid coming here too often in the future.”

“Yeah,” Tucker agreed, knowing she meant that Junior would no doubt be a shadow for quite awhile when it came to his dad, and vice-versa really as he didn’t want to part ways with his son just yet for too long either, “He doesn’t have a lot of fondness for clinics right now.”

His grip on Junior’s shoulder tightened slightly, and when the boy looked up at him with a questioning _“Honk?”_ Tucker smiled reassuringly.

Trying _not_ to get started on yet another panicked thought process about how he had failed as a dad or something right about now would be great, especially since they weren’t sure how much time the Resistance had before shit hit the fan again.

“He seems to be the picture of perfect health for his species.  In case you were wondering.” Grey remarked conversationally, having stayed quiet a few moments as she watched their familial exchange but apparently feeling the pressing need to assure Tucker, “I don’t think they physically hurt him too much while he was in Above Ground custody.”

The Slums dweller stared at her in surprise, “Junior _let_ you examine him?”

The dark-skinned woman smiled, “Well, it was a precursory observation with him clinging to C.T. the whole time in the mess hall,” she conceded, “But, given what he had been through, that was downright trusting for him.”

Doctor Grey continued before he could ask any of the myriad of questions that had obviously started flittering across his eyes, quickly holding up her hand up to let him know she wanted to keep talking, “I got a good enough look to be able to tell that he’s in good health, at least.”

“Damn straight!” Tucker grinned, figuring any other concerns he might have about her observations could wait perhaps until Junior was resting or something, “That’s because we’re fucking awesome.  Right, kid?”

Despite his fatherly concern, Tucker didn’t really want to inadvertently cause his son to relive bad memories by asking the doctor any loaded questions in front of him, so he winked at Junior conspiratorially instead. 

Junior nodded right back quite emphatically, his obvious nervousness at the clinic setting around them dissipating in light of the praise he had just received, “Blargh!”

“I think it would be a good idea just to stay with him and observe, just in case there are any lingering issues.” The doctor explained softly, and he knew she had been attempting to soften some serious _‘there is more than likely a lot of trauma below the surface’_ talk.

Tucker nodded, rather grateful for her surprising tact and gentleness towards Junior, “No need to tell me twice.” He assured her, as he honestly wasn’t planning on staying too long away from his son for quite some time anyways, “Thanks, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome!” Doctor Grey was grinning again, “But, if he feels up for it later on, I’d _love_ to be the doctor who does his physicals in the future!  Aliens are fascinating!”

At which point his son decided it was apparently a good time to use his take on Tucker’s catchphrase, innocently enough: “Bow-chicka-honk-honk!”

“We’ll have to see on that one, I guess.” Tucker said noncommittally in response to her comment, deciding it was probably for the best to ignore Junior’s remark for the moment and the subsequent amused eyebrow raise Doctor Grey had given in response.

Geez, he would definitely need to have _“the talk”_ with Junior sooner rather than later, it seemed.  It was rather humorous that he’d been worried about possibly having to do so with Theta in North’s stead not too long ago, now that he thought about it.

Tucker would give Junior _“the talk”_ along with his special patented _“never put your dick in crazy”_ one.  Which he hoped would go over better than it had with Caboose earlier as the Resistance fighter had a feeling he had just made his younger teammate more confused than anything else.  Not that that was really hard to do considering that Caboose would get confused even when talking about something simple like food choices, but _still_.

The Slums resident stood up then, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured leg in the process, “So, with a little rest I should be good, huh?”

The doctor nodded, “More than likely.”

“Now I can tell that asshole Washington so he can quit nagging me!” Tucker grinned at the prospect.

Of course, he would have to _find_ the blonde first.

For being such a pushy jerk about Tucker seeing the doctor sooner rather than later, Washington had disappeared after practically shoving Tucker and Junior in front of Doctor Grey earlier.  He’d left with a rather amused-looking C.T., who seemed to be trying to hold back a really large amount of laughter at how pushy her former teammate had been over the whole thing.  No doubt the two of them went off to discuss super-secret Freelancer stuff.

The joke was on Washington though.  Since she was a member of Blue Team now, Tucker could probably get C.T. to talk about their conversation later if he whined enough.  Some people considered that annoying, but Tucker liked to look at it as being part of his charm.

Given how adamant Washington had been about the whole thing, you would have thought _he’d_ been the one shot and nearly killed by two psychotic mercenaries.

Tucker figured this trip to the clinic would at least calm him down.  Hopefully, the Freelancer wouldn’t be so anal that he’d need an actual doctor’s note or something to believe him.  Knowing the overly-cautious Above Grounder though?  Tucker honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he did ask for one.

It wasn’t like Tucker was going to use it as an excuse to talk to the man or anything further, like maybe gauge his reaction or some other crap like that.  Nope, not at all.

Doctor Grey was multi-tasking and looking over several patient charts at once following their conversation, so she sent father and son on their way then with a cheery, preoccupied wave and about fifty lollipops.  Some of which were obviously meant for Junior, while the rest were no doubt for Caboose.

Junior was licking one now with marked interest, having long since before realized that swallowing the candy whole was not the best way to enjoy the treat.  Tucker had panicked that first time when Junior had swallowed the stick and wrapper along with the candy.  He even ended up getting Grif to teach him the Heimlich afterwards, just in case.

Tucker was grateful that, for the most part, his son had more self-control when it came to sweet food than his teammate did.  He was already fairly certain he’d have to hide most of the candy from Caboose in order to avoid him getting a stomachache later.  Tucker had learned that the hard way after the _last_ lollipop stash he had gotten from Grey.  The doctor was definitely spoiling the guy.

Tucker had last seen his Blue Team teammate talking Donut and Andersmith’s ears off when Washington had begun practically shoving him away from the gathered group of comrades earlier to get him to the clinic.  Who knew where the blonde could have wandered off to by now?

_“Hey, ass-face!”_

Tucker grimaced at the sound of Kai’s familiar voice shouting at him from further down the hallway.  Oblivious to his father’s reaction since it was pretty obvious given her pointed glare that her comment wasn’t directed towards him, Junior waved excitedly at the tan girl while the older man froze in his tracks.

Yeah, the Slums dweller probably should have figured this would happen the second word traveled around the bunker that he was back.  Tucker waved nervously, taking a small step behind his son.  Kai _liked_ Junior, so she wasn’t going to plow him over just to get at his father even if she was pissed off.  Probably.

“Hey, Kai!” Tucker forced a smile into his voice and somehow managed to keep it steady and confident-sounding despite knowing that it wasn’t too good to be on her bad side, “I’m back.”

Kai stomped over towards them, the expression in her dark eyes absolutely murderous, “Don’t _‘I’m back’_ me, you fucking jerk!” She shouted, stabbing a finger into his shoulder to emphasize her point, “What was the big idea of you going off and playing hero without telling me?”

Truthfully, years of being childhood friends taught him that there was no real way to get Kai to calm down if she was really angry at you.  Tucker had learned the hard way it was better to just let her have her outburst and try to survive it as best you could, since once she let it out she tended to get over things quickly enough.

“Er…” Tucker’s mind was drawing a blank as to what would be the best response to go with, so he ended up winging it, “I was trying _not_ to get you fucking pissed off?”

That comment sounded so ridiculous given everything that it honestly gave the young woman a momentary pause to process it, though her narrowed eyes made it pretty clear what she thought of his explanation.

“Well, _that_ didn’t work, did it?” Kai harrumphed, “I’m more pissed off at you now than I would have been if you’d just fucking told me in the first place!”

Well, yeah.  Hindsight was twenty-forty and all that shit.  Probably not best to say that right now though, given how upset the younger woman was.

Also, probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that the only reason Tucker hadn’t told her was because he knew she would have insisted on going on account of Junior and her brother.  If she’d ended up getting hurt or worse, he wouldn’t have been able to ever face Grif again.  Or even face himself again, for that matter, considering that the girl was practically family.

Given how Kai usually reacted when Grif tried pulling that kind of logic on her, it would probably not be a pretty sight to say anything like that right now.

She gave him the finger as if she was picking up on his thought processes anyway, “I ended up going with C.T. and the crazy old guy anyways, so screw you!”

“Kai…” Tucker frowned, really not sure what to say at this point and noticing how Junior had actually paused from his enjoyment of his lollipop as the two conversed to actually side-step _away_ from his father just in the off-chance that Kai was going to punch him or something.

He felt oddly proud at Junior for being that perceptive since he’d probably do the same if he had been standing near an argument, yet also conflicted because he wasn’t sure it was the best display of familial loyalty.

Suddenly, instead of looking vehemently angry, the girl teared up.  Just as Tucker was about to flinch away in response to what looked like a potential punch coming his way, Kai hugged him instead.

“Asshole!  I’ve been worried about my dumbass brother and Junior too.” Her voice was muffled due to her head placement against his armor, “I had just as much of a reason to be there as you did!”

Tucker sighed, definitely feeling more than just a bit guilty while returning the hug awkwardly, “I—I know, Kai.” He admitted, “Sorry.”

She sniffled into his shoulder just then, and Tucker had to avoid making a face because he recalled her having been a really messy nose runner when she cried as a little kid in the past, “Then I had to worry about you too because of that!  Stupid dick!”

He sighed again, “I’m sorry.  Really.”

“Whatever.” Kai pulled away, eyes red and her face tearstained, but the sudden flash of anger that had suffused her features earlier was nowhere to be seen, “But, at least I got the chance to yell at you for it.”

“I’m sure as hell glad you did.”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at that.  Maybe Tucker had wanted to avoid a confrontation with Kai, but having her yell at him beat the alternative of him _not_ being around to hear it.

Now that the weirdness was over between the two older humans, Junior held out one of the lollipops to the yellow-armored lieutenant.  Obviously happy to share the bounty with a friend.

She patted his head before taking it, “Thanks, little guy.” Kai told him, looking at the lollipop thoughtfully before remarking, “I should _really_ show Volleyball that trick you can do with getting the candy off of the stick and unwrapped with just your tongue.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Tucker paused then once her words sunk in, suddenly not at all sure that this conversation was something Junior should be hearing “Wait, what?”

“I can show you it too, Tucker.” She offered, her tone once again warmly exuberant with her childhood friend as she winked mischievously, “I bet your cop boyfriend would arrest you for it though.”

He was trying to grasp who exactly his _‘cop boyfriend’_ was supposed to be in this conversation as, apparently to Grif’s little sister, it was someone who should be quite obvious to Tucker given how nonplussed she seemed to be with the remark.

However, as he was thinking, another thought entirely crossed the girl’s mind and Kai looked at him worriedly.

“…They got Dex out too, right?” She asked, almost hesitantly and biting her lip in an oddly not very Kai-like fashion, “Everyone keeps telling me they did, but I wasn’t sure if they were just trying to be nice or something.”

It made sense that she would be a little worried in that regard, given how close the two siblings were.  Fuck, his own not filling her in about the whole rescue plan hadn’t probably helped that any either.

He smiled reassuringly, “Yeah, Kai.  They got him out too.”

Tucker didn’t say that the reason he wasn’t here yet was because Grif’s condition apparently wasn’t the best for travel.  Knowing for sure that the fat-ass was at least relatively safer _now_ compared to the whole uncertainty about his condition they had before was at least hopefully something of a comfort to the younger Grif sibling.

“Simmons is with him, right?” Kai asked then, looking both relieved by Tucker’s reassurance and also more than just a tad bolstered by having heard the news from him too.

When Tucker nodded in response to her question, a slight smile formed on her face.

“I’m glad.” Kai seemed even more relieved at the fact that her brother had someone close by that he knew, “Although it’s probably a good thing neither of them can get pregnant!”

*****

“He’ll be fine, Wash.” C.T. stated quietly, trying to hide her growing amusement at Washington turning his head to stare at the hallway they had last seen Tucker go through with Junior and Doctor Grey, “You could have gone with them, if you’d wanted.”

He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair in a nervous gesture he hadn’t done in quite a while, “I know, but you said it yourself: he’s most likely fine and he was yelling at me before about worrying too much, and I don’t really want to intrude on his reunion with Junior and—“

The Above Grounder was rambling like how he used to do when they were kids and he had been over-excited about something, like he had done up until things with Project Freelancer had fallen through so horribly wrong.  He stopped abruptly when he realized this, face heating up as he turned to see the now very apparent smirk on the brunette’s face at his behavior.

Washington frowned, sighing, “We are so _not_ discussing this right now.”

C.T. raised an eyebrow in the same teasing way she had done when they were kids and she’d caught him making a fool of himself, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Washington.”

_She did.  She totally did!_

But, because he really didn’t want to bring even more attention to how he had been acting just then and hear a ton of teasing about it, the man figured it was best to just play along and change the subject.  All while ignoring how his face had gotten even hotter in those last few moments of conversation.

Given everything that had happened, it was both disconcerting and oddly comforting in a way to see how quickly their dynamic had gone back to a more pleasant back-and-forth now.

Truthfully, Washington had thought his friendship with Connie had pretty much ended the second she had started acting so distrusting over Project Freelancer, the second she had begun pulling away from everyone.  That was followed quickly thereafter by the Insurrection attack, what happened with Epsilon, and her full-blown defection.  There were far too many uncomfortable and hurtful circumstances between them to count.

The last few times the childhood friends had seen each other since then had been awkward, to say the least.  Particularly given her ties to the Resistance and his continued involvement before with Above Ground.

He hadn’t been sure anything could really change that sense of mistrust for any of the former Freelancers, really.

Being able to actually have a conversation with C.T. again after what seemed like years, to fall so quickly back into old habits?  It was hard to put into words how Washington felt about it.  It was both unnerving and grateful all at once.

Probably leaning more towards grateful though, especially since most of the people around here save for a handful of the Resistance members the Freelancer had met previously were more or less strangers.

Plus, thinking back to scabbed knees and skateboarding adventures, before all of the horribleness in general happened?  It was something of a relief too.

It was good in a way, but _where_ they were and _why_ they were here had to be more of the top priority of focus right now.

Reminding himself of that while trying to change the subject was a good way to stay on track and not think on things that could wait until later.  If they were still alive to do so at all then.

“What has the situation here been like?” Washington asked, quickly getting back to a more serious frame of mind now that he had embarrassed himself enough for the day, “We received snippets of information from Carolina’s group while on the run, but it wasn’t always clear.”

C.T. sighed, the good-natured teasing she had been giving him earlier fading away the second his question was asked, “So you know that not only was their part of your crazy plan successful, but that we also have a good idea on the location of the relic now?”

He nodded stiffly.  They had caught wind of that at least, but nothing very concrete besides.  Trying to lose very dogged pursuers had meant dropping out of communication quite a bit more than the Above Grounder liked.  Going into things blind was never the best strategy, he knew that well enough now from personal experience.

Given much of the activity and snippets of conversation Washington had picked up since their recent arrival at the Resistance bunker though, it was obvious that plans were already in the works for a rather large operation soon.

“Then you’re pretty much in the same boat as us.” C.T. told him, her expression grim.

He stared at her incredulously, gray eyes widening in surprise, “Seriously?”

Granted, Washington hadn’t expected the Resistance to have a ton more of information.  Information was always at a minimum considering how much picking away and investigating went into finding any gleams of it, even with the A.I.s looking into matters now too.  Hargrove certainly was adept at keeping his secrets secret.

But, still, the Freelancer was honestly a bit surprised that given how rough the last couple of days had been and the moments of complete silence they’d undertaken they hadn’t been even more out of the loop while they made their way back to the Resistance.

“It’s an area up in the mountains called Sidewinder.” The brunette told him, gauging his reaction carefully, “Sound familiar?”

Washington frowned at her question.  Of course, it did.  They had gone to that area on missions a few times during Project Freelancer’s heyday, and it was also…

“Florida was killed there.” He spoke quietly, not really wanting to bring up the topic at all.

Or, at least, that was where the body had been found.  The exact time and place of his death could have been somewhere else entirely.  The only real record Church and Delta had found about it was more about the reason as to _why_ Florida had been killed on Above Ground orders, and how that had ultimately been covered up.

C.T. nodded, not looking pleased at the memory either.

“Maine was last seen there too.” She said quietly, “When he…”

She trailed off, but he knew what his childhood friend was going to say.  The Above Grounder could easily fill in the rest.  _When he died_.

Washington had still been in recovery at the time due to the incident with Epsilon, but he had heard all about it later.

Maine had somehow gone rogue during the defection of Tex, York, and North.  He had attacked Carolina and left her nearly dead.  Afterwards, Maine had somehow wound up at Sidewinder and was subsequently killed.

The details on the whole event were pretty much nonexistent, even in the classified files of the Director that they had uncovered.  A pretty obvious sign that a massive cover-up had happened. 

“The Director _did_ have an odd fondness for that area.  Even before then.” Washington noted tightly, trying not to ponder the reasons as to why the hugely intimidating yet always encouraging Maine had succumbed to such a fate, although they all revolved around that fucking implantation process, “I suppose it does oddly make sense.”

They probably should have picked up on that fondness a lot earlier, now that Washington thought about it.

He sighed, wondering if the Director would be there too then.  Considering that the information had come from Church, who was still with Carolina, he could imagine her thinking along the same vein.  No doubt Carolina had always been planning something along the lines of revenge given what the Director had done.

The redheaded Freelancer would certainly want to stop the relic from being developed into a super-weapon capable of wiping out an entire population of people, but if she thought that _he_ was there at Sidewinder specifically?

Well, he should probably share that concern with Delta and York at some point soon.  Perhaps even Tex as well.

He was more than aware of what Carolina and Church had been discussing in that regard, ever since the reveal about what Church really was.  Washington had a sneaking suspicion about what they might try to do in the midst of all of this if they thought the Director was remotely close by.

Whether or not it would be a good thing though, that was the question.

The brunette sitting nearby watched his expression become even more downcast as he mulled over this new information with a deepening frown on her own face.

Evidently, she apparently decided that it had gone on for long enough and slapped a hand onto her armored knee quickly to get his attention, a sort-of smile crossing over her face at the same time.

“We could probably go and find Tucker now.  If you’d like.” C.T. offered.

Perhaps there had been too much of an eager, near desperate look suffusing his features at her comment, because the full-on smirk that suddenly lit up her face was even shining in her eyes.

Washington groaned, his face red once more, “Not.  Another.  Word.”

*****

The next time Grif woke up, only Simmons was in the room with him.

“Where’d…Doc go?” The Slums dweller asked in a croaking voice, wincing both at how terrible he sounded and the pain that suddenly shot all over through his body as he tried to move slightly to sit up in the bed.

He was fairly certain given how fuzzy his brain felt that he still had that heavy-duty painkiller coursing through his system.  Grif wasn’t even sure he wanted to know what he would feel like without it anytime soon, especially since he was still as fucking uncomfortable as he felt now while on it.

“He left to talk to Church and Sheila about something.” Simmons told him in way of explanation, hand poised to grasp Grif’s shoulder in a steadying motion should he need it.  The cyborg must have held back on actually physically helping due to the momentary stubborn look on Grif’s features.

The Resistance fighter didn’t usually like moving most of the time, but he would be in really bad shape if he _couldn’t_ manage to do just that tiny bit on his own at some point.  Simmons smiled slightly at him, though the expression looked pretty watery.

Grif couldn’t tell if that was actually due to the tears of exertion forming in his own eyes given what he had just forced his protesting body to do since, for a second there, _everything_ looked fucking blurry to him.  Or, rather, if seeing a friend struggling like that had just caused the maroon soldier to get emotional.

Knowing the two of them, he had a feeling it was probably a combination of both.

Simmons helped Grif ease up into his new sitting position by using the pillows on the bed behind him before offering him a cup of something to drink.  Looking at the cup, Grif dimly remembered that Doc had wanted to get him orange juice before he had passed out the first time.

With very visible effort, the Resistance fighter reached out for the drink and the first thing he noticed about his arm were the white bandages that wrapped it up completely.  In fact, they stopped only just below Grif’s tan knuckles.

Even so, he could make out a dark red mark peeking out on his hand that had _definitely_ not been there before.

It hurt just gripping the cup, but Grif didn’t really want to show it.  He liked playing up being sick and hurt for all it was worth when there was a good chance for a nap or getting someone else to do all his work for him, but being in this level of pain and discomfort was on a whole other, unnerving level.

Yup, he had been right.  Definitely orange juice.  At least his memory wasn’t completely trashed.  Grif stubbornly managed to drink a bit of the sour liquid down before Simmons took it away.  He nodded his head slightly in thanks to the Above Grounder, surprised by how strained even that movement felt.

Even with all of the effort it took just to do that, Grif wasn’t even _hungry_ either.

He must be dying or something.

Grif tried not thinking too much on that disconcerting thought.  The fuzziness was certainly helpful in getting his mind to drift away from being too troubled over things that normally would probably be scaring the shit out of him if he was thinking properly.  He still felt a bit tired, but he really wanted to fight the urge to fall asleep too quickly again.

Thankfully, parching his thirst a bit helped with how scratchy his throat had been earlier so when he was better able to vocalize more, he started, “Is something happening, or…?”

“No.  Not for a while, Grif.” Simmons sounded oddly hesitant, focusing his attention on the oddly pastel bedspread covering the rest of Grif’s bandaged injuries from view, “Just focus on getting better, okay?”

Given that response, the Slums dweller knew something was definitely up.

But, at the moment, Grif was almost too exhausted to care.  The whole effort of just sitting up had been somehow more draining than even the worst of Sarge’s drills.

“H-hey, Simmons?” He asked as he felt his eyes drooping again.  The Resistance soldier tried to resist the temptation to sleep though, as at the moment all he really wanted was to keep hearing the cyborg talk.

“Yeah, Grif?” Simmons almost sounded like he was going to cry for real now.  Considering the reason for it, Grif figured he’d be nice and not call him a nerd or anything.

“How…bad is it?  Really?”

He had pretty much meant everything, which made for one really fucking loaded question.  Grif wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what lay behind all of the bandages and the lingering pain medication yet, but he definitely knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

His injuries, his friends, the whole current situation with Above Ground and the Slums.  _All of it._

A part of him really didn’t want to know any of it just yet given how hard it was to even stay fucking awake, but another incessant side was screaming inwardly that he should.

There was a pause from the Above Grounder, as if he was debating on just how to respond.

Finally, he seemed to settle on, “We can get into that later, Grif.”

The Slums dweller was drifting off again despite not wanting to just yet, and he was surprised to feel wetness on his face at the thought.

Simmons did reach out again, grasping onto Grif’s hand while his face turned completely red even down to the too-white synthetic skin.  This time the redhead showed no hesitation or indication of letting go.

That tiny comfort had to be enough for now.

At least when he dozed off, Grif’s sleep didn’t start off with nightmares thanks to the reassuring warmth enveloping his scarred fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** A chapter about the immediate aftermath of the whole rescue mission from the last one. I apologize that it took so long to post. Some personal matters came up as I was writing this chapter, and I ended up struggling with parts of it as a result.
> 
> Not the most exciting of chapters, but some rather necessary reunions happened, some plot points expanded on more, and some awkwardness too. The next chapter will hopefully have even more awkwardness and quite a bit of “romance” moments too! :)
> 
> Actually, we’re sort of getting close to the ending now. Which is odd to think of considering how long this story became. I don’t know how many more chapters it will be, but we’re definitely approaching the final battle. Given that, I might be posting a few separate stories here (shorter one shots really) as a gift to my sister while still working on this fic as well, so I apologize if you see my name popping up more often.  
>    
> Thank you, as always, for sticking with me this far and for reading! I hope this chapter was a decent read despite the wait! :D


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Four:

For someone who had only recently figured out that he wasn’t actually human, Leonard Church certainly seemed to be getting a shitload of horribly timed headaches still.

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring at nothing in particular in the really ugly decorated space he was currently sitting in.  Technically speaking, what he had actually done just a little while ago _should_ have removed two of the biggest headaches he’d been experiencing recently from his life.

Well, one pretty big migraine-sized one in purple at least.  The other one in gunmetal green was more of a minor one, but only-if-she-got-to-talking-about-her-Spanish-speaking-boyfriend-who-was-also-a-robot.  Otherwise, he tended to get along the best with her in general out of all of their team.

Though it probably also said a ton about her patience factor that she could stomach his rants as well as she did.

Apparently, even the act of forcibly sending two of his teammates away to relative safety had him getting some kind of annoying “tension headache.”  Or whatever was the robot equivalent of one, at any rate.

There probably wasn’t such a thing as true safety anymore, given what they were up against.  But, being out of the city proper now was the closest thing they could get to _not_ being in some asshole’s crosshairs over the very massive shit they had pulled recently

If Doc were here, his good-natured but horribly impractical teammate would probably suggest that Church dip his entire head in a jar of aloe vera.  Or maybe that he try taking up a calming breathing exercise or something.

_“Just going through the motions could help, even if you don’t have lungs!”_

Shit, both of his teammates would probably get on his case about just fucking sharing his feelings.  Or some other touchy-feely crap like that in order to relieve his stress.

Yeah, and even thinking about _hypothetically_ being told shit like that was causing his headache to get about ten times worse.  On top of a sudden eye twitch.

_Fucking awesome._

Seriously, this was just further proof that worrying about people other than yourself was absolute bullshit.

He didn’t _need_ this crap.  Given that, it really fucking sucked that he was such a caring person.

Okay, yeah, he was fairly certain _anyone_ who could have read his thoughts just then and had known him for more than a second, including the old lady that he was fairly certain kept stealing his mail, would probably snort in disbelief.  Honestly?  He’d probably have to give that to them.

Still, when Church did give them that acknowledgement, he would also give them the finger and tell them to bite him all the same.

Maybe, just _maybe_ , part of his unease had to do with just sitting in the safe house all on his own presently.  The A.I. was waiting for news about how his teammates leaving the city limits had gone since Carolina had been dead-set on keeping communication silence throughout the whole process just in case someone had been monitoring them.

They’d limited their communications with pretty much everyone in general given that, a safer approach due to how tense things were now.  You know, safer than just vocalizing every thought out there for possible pick-up by unwanted eyes and ears.

Currently, the Above Grounder had nothing to keep him company.  Well, nothing but the shitload of explosive and deadly weaponry and armaments that the Freelancer leader had procured over the years since she had decided to stage her own personal vengeance mission.

Seriously, that whole situation was one of those times when you really just _wanted_ to make a smartass remark about preparedness.  But, then that’s when your survival instincts cut in to tell you that was something to avoid overdoing.  Especially since Church knew damn well that said weapons collector didn’t even _need_ those items to kill you in about thirty different ways.

Truthfully, he was actually _missing_ his teammate jerks already.

Shit, the A.I. was nearly tempted to check in on the nerd and his recuperating boyfriend just for the company.  Well, if he wasn’t absolutely horrified at the thought that he could possibly walk in on something that might require him bleaching his eyes.

Also, he knew that Simmons would be reporting in here later at Carolina’s insistence, so fuck it!  Why should he have to do extra leg work?

He knew his current stress and anxiety had really more to do with Epsilon.

Church had always valued alone time before.  At least, in a well-lit, more open space.  While he still very much relished it, since the merge he found it more suffocating and panic-inducing if it lasted for more than thirty minutes.  Before, he would have called anything over that a fucking ideal vacation.

It was like his fear of dark and cramped spaces, only upped to an even more terrifying degree.

Not that he didn’t understand the reasoning for all of that _far_ too well now.  But, since Church tended to think that the vast majority of other people in the known universe were insufferable idiots, it made the desire to still be around them all the more contradictory.

Yes, he knew the same could very well be said of him.  But, that was only because he was fucking _awesome_ and those other people were all jealous assholes so they could just go and suck it.

Fuck, he didn’t even have Theta and Delta to keep him company anymore since they had been with Tucker and Washington.  He had actually found himself tolerating and appreciating the two Fragments quite a bit for the short time they had the chance to interact.

As for Carolina…

As if on fucking cue, the cyan-armored woman stepped into the darkened living room.  She raised an eyebrow questioningly at him sitting there, before turning on the really out-of-place-looking lamp nearby and bathing the area in shadowy light.

“I thought you didn’t like the dark.” She remarked, sitting on the couch nearby the chair he was occupying.

He’d never had the guts to sit on _that_ particular piece of furniture himself once they had found out what was inside it.  The idea of someone’s ass getting blown up was really only funny when it happened to someone _other_ than him.

“I don’t, but the light was off when you left and…” Church shrugged in an effort to appear nonchalant, “Guess the time got away from me.”

Yeah, he probably should get a hold on his internal rants if he could lose _that_ much time on them.

It _would_ beat freaking out internally if he could do so by actually being aware of the darkness suffocating the space around him.  Still, replacing one fear with something equally distracting and upsetting probably wasn’t the way to go either.

“Hey, if I got myself one of those datapads for electronic reading, do you think I could actually go into it?” He mulled out loud instead, “Really get lost in a book and all that shit?”

Carolina didn’t buy the question, though Church had been partially serious.  Going into computer systems was still an odd experience, but he was almost tempted to see what it would be like for more specialized equipment.  She seemed to recognize her cousin’s question for the obvious stall it was, an attempt to avoid touching upon his more serious concerns.

Feelings, and talking about said feelings, were definitely not either of their fortes.

“Church.” She fixed him with a pointed _‘don’t fucking bullshit me’_ look that probably would have caused most organic beings to piss their pants.

He rolled his blue eyes.  Thankfully, his past interactions with Carolina caused Church to be slightly less intimidated since the other cues that you might be wandering into a dangerous situation with her weren’t present.  All bets would be off if he knew she was truly pissed and not just wanting him to not lie.

He wasn’t _that_ moronic.

“All right.  _Fine._   How did it go?” Church asked.

He had a pretty good suspicion that things had probably gone as expected considering how the redheaded Freelancer had waltzed in here and was in a rather talkative mood.  Well, for _her_ , at any rate.

Which she more or less confirmed with her next statement: “I escorted them outside the city’s perimeter, and we met up with the Resistance team tasked with bringing them back.  They should be at their hideout within an hour, give or take.”

Church nodded.  He had a feeling it wouldn’t have been an issue with Carolina around, even if Doc or Sheila decided to stop and smell the roses or some bullshit.  Doc had in fact actually done that once while out on the field.  Church had definitely had a major headache then.

That was the main reason he had asked the Freelancer to do this one huge favor for him to begin with.  But, still, _any_ move they made given recent actions and what they were up against would have some inherent risk attached.

Even if, technically speaking, this was probably the move that made the most sense in the long run from a safety stance.

“Well, that’s a relief then.” Church sighed, relaxing slightly, “You would not believe how much fucking convincing it took to finally get them to agree to go there.”

Way more than he would have thought, honestly, given how admittedly jerky he could be.  While the A.I. knew he was fucking great, it was a bit surprising that some people could tolerate so _much_ awesomeness for lengthy periods of time.

Doc had almost teared up when he was leaving, and the hug from both the medic and Sheila had been so unexpected that Church had very nearly almost blurted out to them that he had changed his mind.

They could be dumb assholes a lot of the time, but they were _his_ dumb assholes.

Even without him saying that though, it seemed as if Carolina could read his thoughts.  She sighed, an oddly sympathetic note in her voice when she finally spoke up.

“Your group has been through a lot together, and I know that couldn’t have been easy.” She told him, “But it was for the best, Church.”

He knew, otherwise he never would have been the one to arrange for the transfer in the first place.

While through _some_ fucking miracle they hadn’t been linked to any of their more recent excursions against Hargrove yet, who knew how long that would continue to be the case?

Their little group of insider agents were a shitload more vulnerable and out in the open during this period than the rebels were.  Plus, with less numbers on their side.

Sending his teammates into hiding was a smart decision, given that.  No matter how weirdly hesitant and anxious it made him feel to do so.

Honestly, given what Carolina and he intend to do once all the shit finally goes down?  It was safer in the long run too.  His teammates, _his friends_ , getting mowed down wasn’t something Church wanted to see happen during his revenge spree either.

Fuck, he would have ordered Simmons away too.  But, he knew the kiss-ass wouldn’t go anywhere until the fat-ass was able to move without bleeding all over everything.

Sheila and Doc had almost refused to go on that account as well, until Church noted that Grif was at least stabilized now and that Simmons knew all of the medicine shit by heart at this point.  Seeing the hesitation still lingering in their body language even after that, he swore that he would look out for the damn nerd too.

Not that he probably wouldn’t have done it anyways.  But, it made his order for them apparently easier to swallow all the same, even if they still went pretty damn reluctantly.  Granted, by that point it was less of an order and more like _begging_ really, but a very manly and self-assertive begging.

Only a couple more days in that regard, and Church would feel confident enough to probably get both the nerd and the Slums dweller moving their asses too.

Simmons not hanging around the safe house too much _did_ help disassociate him from Carolina and Church a little though, which gave him a bit more of a cushion.  Church should probably tell him to limit his visits to here even more for awhile next time, given that.

It was the best he could do given the shitty-as-all-fuck situation they were all currently in.

He glanced at the darkening look crossing over Carolina’s face, and knew she was probably thinking of the Freelancers again.

That team had pretty much imploded under the machinations of the asshole Director in charge of it, but the AI knew fucking well that she had chosen to sever pretty much most remaining ties with the still alive Freelancers who would probably have still fought beside her.  Both because of the past, and what she had been working for up until now for the future.

It hadn’t been an easy decision for her by any means, no matter how indifferent she tried to play up her mannerisms.

Shit, she probably _missed_ having Delta and Washington in particular around even more than Church and company had when they’d been forced to leave.  Delta even more-so since, from what he had gathered, their partnership had started pretty much in the immediate aftermath of the defections and her recovery period.

Carolina was determined in her path, and she probably didn’t want to see any of them get burned along with her if it came down to that in the end.  He knew there were some instances when she debated pushing even him away too, like she had done before.

But, Church could be just _as_ fucking stubborn when it came to shit too, so fat chance of that happening now.

Only thing he felt slightly bad about was promising Doc and Sheila that they’d meet up again after everything went down, as who knew if that would be true or not?  At least it helped them feel better about shit at the time.

…He probably hated goodbyes just as much as Allison had, now that he thought about it.

Burying that touchy-feely crap, he nodded in response to Carolina’s comment, “Yeah, I know.” He raised a black eyebrow then, motioning to the couch she was sitting on, “We’ve got a shitload more planning to do still, so let’s move on and deal with that instead.”

Carolina nodded, even though it was apparent in her green gaze that she knew the real reason as to why he wanted to move the subject along.  She probably understood more than she would ever feel comfortable vocalizing, and thankfully chose not to make any further remarks about his team and what had happened for Church’s sake.

After all, they did have _a lot_ to prep for still for their trip to Sidewinder and the waiting Director they would no doubt find there.

*****

Dexter Grif would never admit it verbally because he had a particular reputation he was trying to maintain, but honestly?

He would be glad as all get-out to finally be able to stand up and move around again without having to take so many breaks, or without the sharp shooting pain as if he was going to literally tear apart while going through a simple motion.

 _Everything_ seemed to take way longer than it needed to.  Having limited mobility and near-constant bed rest on account of _that_ was definitely not his definition of relaxation.

Especially not when the dosage of pain killers he was on had been decreased.  It was one thing when he was pretty much floating in and out of consciousness and really not always constantly feeling how much everything ached.  But, now he was more aware of every little injury.

He was also more conscious too.  In a way, that may have actually been better because he wasn’t drifting into nightmares or depressing recollections as often.  It was still a _really_ huge problem when he did fall asleep though, or on the verge of it in that weird state of mind where your brain liked to play tricks on you.

But, it was also unfortunately pretty boring to be awake and unable to do much.  He wanted to move.  To actually do _something_.

The feeling was so foreign a concept to his typical outlook on life that the Slums dweller was sort of inwardly freaking out over it.

It didn’t help that, while he was sitting here recuperating, the rest of the world was not going to just stop and wait as well.

No, that asshole Hargrove still had a hold on the alien relic that he planned on turning into a bomb to use on the very place that Grif had been forced to grow up in.  With that douche Felix right there to probably laugh along with him after having fucking played everyone.

Grif couldn’t imagine the other mercenary guy, Locus, laughing though.  Dude probably didn’t even know _how_ to, which was kind of even more creepy if you thought about it.

His teammates, his friends…fuck, even _Kai_ , were no doubt preparing for a major offensive.  One last attempt at stopping things from going from _bad_ to _a shitload worse_ while he was just lying here.

Grif knew Simmons was too.  He wasn’t stupid.  The nerdy Above Grounder and his team wouldn’t have gotten him out if they weren’t throwing their hats into the ring, as it were.  How else would they have even known about him being in Above Ground and captured in the first place?

It also helped that Simmons _really_ wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was.

A lot of the time, his friend was _always_ around whenever Grif was conscious.  Barring him, at times it had been Doc or the robotic Sheila, though the two of them had been less frequent recently.  Still, he knew that Simmons stepped out quite a bit when he thought Grif was sleeping due to the medication.

Sometimes, Grif would wake up panicking.  Fuck, he hadn’t done _that_ since he discovered his fear of heights following what had happened on Level One.  At those times, the Resistance fighter would start searching frantically for _anyone_ , but for _Simmons_ in particular.  Grif would then realize, after listening to complete silence for a while, that beyond him the place was empty

The Slums dweller found himself looking for Simmons specifically more and more these days.  Perhaps it was just an aftereffect of everything, and feeling oddly safer for the first time in who knows how long in Simmons’ house?

He would often have _just_ calmed down by the time Simmons had come back, usually always no more than an hour or so later.  Grif would try to keep from being too visible the odd rush of relief he felt at the happily surprised look that always seemed to appear on the other’s face whenever he noticed that the Resistance fighter was awake.

When Simmons would try to explain where he had been, it was always something about _“Just making sure the fridge has enough food for you, fat-ass.”_   Then, when Grif would then point out that his appetite still wasn’t to his usual levels yet it would be something like _“It’s for_ when _you get better, moron!  I am not letting you eat me out of everything!”_ but in a more flustered tone than an actual chiding one.

Except that Grif was fairly certain Simmons was going out at least twice a day and sometimes more, even if he wasn’t entirely sure of time completely because the drapes were always closed in this room.  Unless they had an entire _room_ dedicated to a fridge here, there was nowhere left to store food by this point with _as_ many grocery trips as that would be.

Granted, he had yet been able to move past this bedroom and its adjoining bathroom on his own.  But, given how big this space alone was and the fact that it was an actual fucking _house_ and not an apartment or something, maybe a whole room just for food here was possible.  Though he doubted it because Simmons wouldn’t have been cruel enough to keep something like _that_ from him.

He was fairly certain Simmons was sneaking out to secret team meetings and the like, and that at the moment he didn’t want Grif to know about them.

Perhaps that was the reason the door to the room was always closed too.  It was never _locked_ , he wasn’t being kept a prisoner or anything.  Still, it was a heavy door.  One that, when closed, muted outside noises like snippets of hushed conversation between Simmons and one of his friends.  Or newscasts from somewhere else in the house.

Grif was afraid in a way to push too much, not sure if doing so would cause Simmons to clam up even more.  That was something he definitely did not want.  Getting to talk coherently to Simmons again while conscious was probably the _only_ fucking positive of the last few days.  But, now that the Slums dweller was more with it in general again, he was getting stir-crazy, impatient, and anxious all at once.

It did not help matters any that even something as simple as going to the bathroom took him longer to do than necessary, and not _even_ because of a good porn magazine or his _awesome_ idea of having a cooler of food by the toilet for an impromptu snack that no one ever seemed to allow because they wanted to argue with his genius.  Rather, it was because of the pain and slowness of moving in general.

The wrappings for his injuries seemed to be made of a water-absorbent material, so he could get them slightly wet, but had to always change into new ones after a shower.  So, he had to add to his bathroom time things like washing his hands afterwards because he didn’t want to hear bitching from a sanitary-conscious cyborg.  After that, he was almost drained to the point of just wanting to lie down again. 

Grif could almost understand the worry keeping Simmons from telling him much in those instances, and he found that he was more annoyed at himself than anyone else for his current situation.

He was more than just halfway back to the pastel-sheeted bed when said nerd opened the door.  Grif was immediately wishing his face hadn’t been in a grimace due to a sudden sharp pain from one of the deeper cuts on his shoulder at that exact moment.

“Grif?” Simmons was at his side a second later, looking worried, “W—what’s wrong?  Do you need more pain medicine, or…?” 

As tempting as that sounded, Grif really _was_ trying to avoid relying too much on the medication now.  Largely because of how disoriented and out-of-it it made him feel.

“I’m fine.  Just had to take a leak.”

He let Simmons hover anxiously at his side as he sat back down on the bed, waiting for his energy to come back.  The pale redhead looked like he was debating whether or not he should just reach out and grasp Grif’s arms to steady him, only holding back out of nervousness that he might press down incorrectly on one of the myriad injuries riddling the other’s body.

“Oh.” Simmons seemed to deflate a little at the reassurance, quickly settling into the chair he had by the bedside as he looked Grif over contemplatively, the worry still evident in his voice, “If you feel like the dosage was lowered too soon, let me know, okay?”

Grif nodded, though the smile on his face was rather self-deprecating, “Oh, trust me, everything still fucking _hurts_ like a bitch.” He told him, “But I wouldn’t be able to even sit or walk as much as I am if it was bad enough for me to need that much again.”

“N—no, I suppose not.” Simmons relaxed at the joking edge covering Grif’s tone, “You _are_ healing at a good pace.”

He knew that, having seen the full extent of his injuries awhile back.  Though Grif still honestly wished it could be quicker all the same.  But, knowing that to be impossible, he sighed.  No point in bitching about it too much when he was more than lucky to even still be breathing.

“Think in a couple days I’ll be able to join up with the others?”

Probably a foolish question to ask.

All things considered, he was healing nicely and could possibly be more physically active simply due to the rest he had been getting and the rather advanced medicine of Above Ground.  But, being fit for duty would be stretching it.  The Slums dweller thought he would be able to if he was careful in a little while, but even he knew the risk of making his health worse would be extremely high.

It seemed as if Simmons was thinking the same thing, given how his face fell a bit, “We’ll see, Grif.  M—maybe.”

Yeah, Simmons was pretty bad at hiding what he was really thinking.

Grif was about to contemplate that further and say something else on the subject, when he noticed Simmons’ eyes darting from him to everywhere else practically in the room, then back to him.  More specifically, to the bandages still wrapped heavily around most of him.  There were bits of adhesive dressing around the nastier cuts on his face still too.

He froze under the scrutiny, not sure exactly what it meant.

“Have you…” Simmons’ face was beet red and he was glancing over at the still open bathroom door as if it was a lifeline, “Been trying to b—bathe recently?”

It was an odd question to ask, so Grif raised an eyebrow and _thank fuck_ that only hurt mildly now as it meant he wasn’t deprived of all joy yet, “You mean shower?  Just say it like how a non-nerd would, Simmons.”

Yeah, Grif wasn’t too keen on the “bathing” thing.  Even before this, showering was on an _as needed_ basis and he honestly never thought he needed it all that much.

Doc had made him do it the first time he’d been up enough to move around, and the pain on the cuts as well as feeling like he would collapse on the floor hadn’t been pleasant.  The blood from the few wounds that reopened under the water was pretty fucking disconcerting too.

The medic had offered to stay in the bathroom in case he actually did collapse, but that was a bit more discomforting so Grif had made him stay outside until it was over so that he could help medicate and bandage up the injuries again.

Since then, because they insisted on it and it _was_ probably a good idea to change the bandages every once in awhile given all of the cuts and wounds, he tried doing it at least every so often when he felt up to it.

“You know what I meant!” Simmons shot back in annoyance to the _non-nerd_ remark.

He sighed, “I haven’t done it today, no.”

Namely because he _couldn’t_ redo the bandages on his own.  Grif could wrap the bandages pretty well by himself, but the topical medicine Doc insisted on slathering over his body was nigh-impossible for him to get everywhere he was injured.

He would usually get Doc or Sheila to help him with that.  Oddly enough, while she tended to push too hard as a robot thing it seemed like, he preferred Sheila’s polite chatter and efficiency to the really energetic ramblings of the purple-armored medic.  Grif could totally see how he and Donut had bonded so readily, and that kind of had him missing his way-too-perky teammate.

But, neither of them had been around for the past day or so.  Something which Simmons had evidently also noticed.

Simmons looked at his hands anxiously, “If you want, I could help with the—“

Grif shook his head quickly, “Nah, it’s cool.  I’ll wait and do it later.” He stated before adding in jokingly, “Have to get back to my showering once a week at some point, right?”

That apparently didn’t sit too well with the redhead sitting nearby, because his eyes narrowed.  The red cybernetic one slightly glowing with the motion.

“That is _not_ happening, Grif!” Simmons told him quite emphatically.

It was always an oddly pleasant surprise when the Above Grounder’s more stubborn side came out for some reason, but Grif tried to ignore that thought at the moment.

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and totally failing at it when he couldn’t help but wince at the motion, “Like I said, I was never that into showers before and I’m feeling better now—“

“Better doesn’t keep you from getting a horrible infection from not taking proper care of yourself!” Simmons had stood up then, actually towering over the tan man.  The whole thing would have been rather comical as it seriously looked as though the cyborg was one second away from stamping a foot, if not for the fact that he was getting upset on Grif’s behalf.

The Slums dweller sighed, feeling oddly grateful at the outburst and desperately trying to quickly change the subject at the same time.

It _wasn’t_ that he didn’t know that for health reasons he needed to change the bandages sooner rather than later.  But, a very large part of him didn’t want to take up Simmons’ offer to help.

Grif wasn’t sure why, but the idea of Simmons seeing what was underneath all of the gauze was really upsetting to him.

He was fine with other people seeing it, couldn’t care less really.  He wasn’t exactly the biggest worrier about appearance or hygiene, even when push came to shove.  But, _Simmons_ seeing that mess?  Watching his reaction?

For some reason, Grif dreaded that immensely.  Even knowing that the Above Grounder had probably seen it when he was unconscious was enough to make him kind of ill.

“When Doc or Sheila come back they can help.” He muttered under the cyborg’s glare.

This seemed to cause Simmons to simply become exasperated once more, “I’m right _here_ , Grif.” The redhead informed him, “Why wait for someone else?”

He frowned, feeling snappish himself now at the stupid nerd’s pushing, “Just drop it, Simmons.” Grif waited a second, eyes falling to his bandaged fingers again before adding, “ _Please._ ”

It was the way he spoke that last part, and how he avoided Simmons’ eyes, that finally gave the cyborg pause.

“Grif, are you—” There was a slight hitch to his voice just then and had Grif looked up at that moment he would have probably seen a vibrant shade of red across the organic components of the other’s face as he put two and two together, “Are you embarrassed by the injuries?”

The Resistance fighter raised an eyebrow again, not even bothering to look up, “Wouldn’t you be?” He asked, “I’m going to look like a fucking freak puzzle even after all of it scars over.”

Grif couldn’t help but smile ruefully as he continued, “I wasn’t much of a looker _before_ all of this, Simmons.  I sure as hell won’t be one now.”

Simmons said nothing for a long while following that, and Grif figured he wouldn’t because well, no point in arguing with logic.

“That’s—that’s not true.”

It came out really softly, but loud enough that Grif looked up at Simmons questioningly and was surprised to see Simmons staring at him emphatically.

“You were _always_ a looker, Grif.” He remarked quietly, “Wh—when we first met, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

Grif looked amused, not getting the joke, “Probably because you were fucking pissed that I punched you more than anything.”

Simmons was plowing on as if he hadn’t heard him, his hands twitching as if he was going to reach over and grasp Grif’s shoulders for added emphasis, “No matter what, I _still_ think you’re—“

All of a sudden, as if his mind suddenly caught up to what his mouth was saying, Simmons froze in midsentence.  His eyes went wide and his face began taking on a purple hue as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

For some reason, Grif almost felt the same, “S—Simmons?”

The hands hovering by his shoulders gave him an awkward pat instead before the cyborg practically jumped back as if to flee from the room entirely, “Um…r—right.  I guess you can wait for a little while longer, Grif.” He stuttered, “I—I have to go out later and—and you look tired.”

Well, he did feel tired.  But, suddenly, the Slums dweller also felt rather energized.  He blinked, not sure what to make of his friend’s sudden timid demeanor.

Rather dumbfounded, he was easy to guide back to laying down.  The redhead refused to look at him the entire time, instead fixating on the blankets with such focus that he’d probably tucked in tight enough that one of Grif’s arms was practically stuck at his side.  The other, fortunately, he’d pulled out quickly enough to keep free.

“Um…” When Grif finally was able to speak again, “Okay?”

Yeah, this conversation they were having was fucking _mind-blowing_.

“But…” Simmons was getting back his articulation in the meanwhile by changing to the earlier topic and not on Grif’s thoughts on his looks now or _how_ Simmons himself apparently viewed the chubby fighter, managing to look Grif in the eye once more stubbornly with only a slight blush on his real skin, “If neither of them come back with me today, I _will_ be helping you with the bandages.  No arguments, understood?”

Grif nodded, suddenly feeling way too exhausted to argue although he probably could come up with some excuse afterwards if he thought on it more, “Understood.”

“G—good.”

Simmons sat back on the chair, wanting to keep him company until he had to leave again.  Grif was glad for that.

“Hey, Simmons?” He asked, eyes darting to the antique furniture of the room.  There wasn’t even a terminal to watch T.V. or anything on.  Or any signs of _Simmons_ living there.

“Y—yeah?” He fidgeted, perhaps afraid Grif would want to ask about his odd behavior earlier.

“This is your house, right?”  When Simmons nodded, he motioned with his one free hand around the space, “Then how come it doesn’t seem like you live here?” Grif asked, “No offense, but this doesn’t seem like your style at all.”

Simmons frowned, gaze also sweeping over the room in question, “That’s because it isn’t.” He explained, voice going soft once more, “It’s my mother’s.”

There was a tinge of sadness in his tone just then too, and Grif remembered that he had spoken about her passing away before.

“Sorr—“

The cyborg cut him off, apparently knowing that Grif hadn’t meant any kind of offense to begin with, “I couldn’t…” Simmons paused, looking uncomfortable, “Bring myself to change anything here.”

Grif could understand that, “So I’m set up in her room, then?”

Simmons glanced at the floor in embarrassment, his face tinged pink, “Um, well, I spent so little time here after I came back from the Slums that first time that…” He had to whisper the next part, “I haven’t changed anything in my room from back then.”

Which probably meant a whole lot of teenage nerd stuff was in there that he would _never_ want either Grif or someone else who enjoyed teasing him to see.  Gotcha.

“Heh.  Nerd.” Grif couldn’t help but smile though, as that sort of fit for Simmons.  If he could pry himself off the bed later, he might try venturing in to peak still.  If only for a second.

Simmons become even more red-faced at that, but said nothing as a slight smile crossed over his features as well.

“So your dad…” Grif began hesitatingly, now just curious about Simmons’ home life again and wanting to find out a little more about it in general.

“Couldn’t have cared less what the fuck happened to this place afterwards, so long as it didn’t affect him any.” The bitterness in the cyborg’s voice was almost palpable.

Grif nearly winced at that himself, about to ask more when Simmons suddenly stood up.  A dark look momentarily crossed over his features before he smiled down at Grif in an attempt to hide it, although he wasn’t able to conceal the hurt glint that showed up in his green eye a second later.  The cyborg tentatively squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring motion, perhaps just as much for himself given how upset he’d just gotten as it was for Grif’s sake since he probably hadn’t meant to worry him.

“I…I should get going.” Simmons tried saying in a nonchalant manner and failing pretty miserably at it, “I’ll bring you back dinner, all right?”

He hadn’t even known it _was_ close to evening until then.

Grif nodded, wanting to ask more, but suspecting that even if he did Simmons would probably brush it off as if whatever issues he had with his father weren’t big deals at this point.

His friend left, and the Slums dweller closed his eyes fairly quickly afterwards.

The nightmares of torture merging with Level One on fire again, and everything hurt and he _couldn’t fucking breathe_ …

He woke up in a darker room with the sound of muffled voices coming from behind the door.

Simmons had apparently left in such a hurry due to his own discomfort at the last part of their conversation that he hadn’t closed it fully this time.

Desperate to take his mind off of the recent troubling sleep episode he had just experienced, Grif got the blankets loosened enough with a lot of effort and pain that he could _finally_ get up.

Slowly, he went to the door and peered out.  He was surprised to see a terminal airing a broadcast from the inside of another room across the hallway.  Simmons’, probably.  It seemed the redhead been so absent-minded earlier he had forgotten to turn it off.

Grif froze when he heard an all-too familiar voice, even if the last time he had heard it was several months ago at a fake “diplomatic” session.

It seemed like Hargrove was having some kind of press conference.

_“There is a special event planned for Above Ground’s anniversary in three days’ time.  I think everyone will be quite surprised by the festivities.”_

The words sunk in as he looked at those eyes that weren’t nearly as smiling as Hargrove’s face was on the screen, and the Resistance fighter suddenly seemed to be somewhere else _._

_There was pain all over and fire in his lungs, and everyone dead or dying, and he couldn’t breathe…_

He wasn’t sure where to, but Grif _had_ to run.

*****

“This is fucking unbelievable.” Washington stated, looking around incredulously at the people gathering inside the larger space across the corridor.

He probably _should_ have expected something like this to occur, especially following Kimball’s announcement of everyone who wanted to do so getting the day off to rest.  Within reason, of course.  Apparently she had been very adamant about there being no alcohol or anything of the like.

It made sense as they were very soon about to enter into an extremely difficult fight, one that it was very unlikely they were all going to be walking away from.

Still, the Freelancer hadn’t expected so _many_ of the Resistance fighters to end up taking her up on it.

“What?” York looked amused at his commentary, the brown eyebrow over his good eye lifting to accentuate it even more, “You don’t think they deserve a break considering what we’re all about to go into?”

“Hargrove’s _surprise announcement_ just hit the information channels everywhere.” North added in, not unkindly, “That was a pretty big reminder to everyone that this will probably be their last chance for this type of thing for quite awhile.”

“I know that, but…” Washington sighed, his voice trailing off.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so paranoid, but a part of him was screaming that if they didn’t train nearly every second, that if they weren’t _constantly_ preparing then—

“Everyone’s been prepping for this fight since Wyoming and those asshole mercenaries stole the relic, Washington.” It was Tex’s voice, surprisingly, that cut through the impending doom and gloom of his thoughts just then, “We’re more than ready.  Everyone knows Sidewinder is the real thing.”

She continued before he had the chance to even regain his breath to say anything else, and it was pretty much a given since the days of Project Freelancer that one never interrupted Tex if she was talking, tilting her head tightly to nod in the direction of the gathering nearby, “Let them have this little celebration and chance to relax before the nerves hit again full force and they’re puking everywhere.”

“Ah.  Like a certain rookie we all used to know.” York joked, causing the other three former Freelancers to grin as Washington turned a bright crimson red at that awful reminder of an event he really had been trying hard to forget.

“Th—that was _one_ time!” He spluttered, indignant, “ _You_ were the asshole who let me eat nachos before we ran those laps!”

“Yeah, because watching Maine nearly trip over your puke was _hilarious_.” York grinned even more at the memory, “I thought Carolina was going to die from trying to hold in her laughter.”

At the mention of their two absent teammates, silence suddenly spilled over the small group.  From further down the hallway, voices chattering away cheerfully came drifting in to fill the space.

These odd moments like this when things seemed _almost_ something akin to how they used to be, at least until some unintentional remark brought everything to a crashing halt.  Those moments were the ones that Washington felt were the worst to deal with in regards to reuniting with some of his former teammates.

North sighed, glancing around the group with his usual trying-to-move-things-forward-again effort and Washington had forgotten how much he had missed that aspect of his friend’s personality until just now, “So…Sidewinder, huh?”

“Yeah.” Washington lowered his head, knowing the name wasn’t a pleasant one for any of them given everything that had transpired there.

Seeming to know at this point that there was probably nothing else to say on the topic, the purple-armored blonde stood up, “I think I’m going to head into the outing.” He announced, “Theta really wanted to meet Junior properly, so Tucker was keeping an eye on him.”

Tex looked amused, “If I were you, I’d be afraid that he’ll pick up some new vocab words when you get him back.”

North smiled slightly at her joke, “Oh, trust me.  I am pretty certain that’s a given with this group.”

The smile on his face was the same as always, cheerful and gentle.  But, there was a pained look in North’s pale blue eyes that Washington had a feeling had very little to do with the all-too likely possibility of Theta acquiring colorful new vocabulary and phrases from Tucker and the other Resistance fighters.  It was probably more to do with the likelihood of just what they were liable to meet at Sidewinder.

Or, more accurately for North Dakota, _who_.

If South did show up there, what would happen between the two siblings, especially given the way their last meeting had gone?

Washington almost wanted to ask, but couldn’t bring himself to.

That was a personal bridge for North to cross, and if he didn’t want to tell them his thoughts about what he might do if he came face-to-face with the sister who had shot him in the back?  Well, it wasn’t in any of their rights to pry.

Besides, South had never _actually_ said she was planning to side with Hargrove either.  Maybe she wouldn’t show.

Though Washington doubted it given what she had said before when they had met her and Wyoming at the Director’s research lab earlier.  It seemed as if she _was_ intent on tracking her twin down, so if she had an inkling that they would show up at that location?  Well, the odds were pretty high they would find her there as well.  For what reason, they could probably only guess.

C.T. stood up also, “I should head inside too.” She broke into the heavy silence that had settled over everyone again, “I want to see if Tucker’s saved any ice cream for me.”

Oh, right.  Caboose had been prattling on earlier about there being an ice cream party on account of Junior being back.  Apparently Tucker had promised it to him or something.

Washington had a feeling that was a conversation you would have to have been around for to get the actual story behind as a lot of Caboose’s memories about specific events were a little misconstrued in their retellings, he found.

Evidently, they had decided given Kimball’s announcement that this was as good a time as any for it, which had quite excited the younger blue-armored man.

His childhood friend glanced questioningly at Washington, “Want me to ask if they held on to any for you?” She asked him, her brown eyebrow raised a minimal margin with the inquiry.

The teasing in her comment was no doubt lost on any of the others.  She’d always been an expert at hiding her truest comments from most people, even when they were both little kids.  Washington, however, heard it a mile away given the slight smirk that creased the corners of her mouth upwards and how their conversations always seemed to go whenever she brought up Tucker to him.

He grimaced, noting the curious looks on the others’ faces and the slight bemusement amongst them at the exchange and prayed that all of them just kept their damn mouths shut, “Just…go, okay?”

C.T. grinned before catching up to North as the two made their way from the Freelancer meeting to the larger gathering taking place.

Which meant that he was now alone with Tex and York, and would have an easier time bringing up the main reason he had even asked to catch up with the former Freelancers in the first place.

 Washington frowned, wondering how to best broach the topic to them and figuring he should dive in without preambles.

“About Sidewinder—”

Tex cut him off once more before the rest of what he was about to say could even get out, “Carolina has a very large reason to suspect that the Director will be somewhere at the facility as well, and she is planning on partaking in a revenge mission while everyone else is distracted with getting to the relic and stopping it from becoming actively weaponized.”

Washington gaped at the former Freelancer in shock, but she continued as if he hadn’t while her vocal tone became firmer and her expression even more unreadable, “Furthermore, she and Church have found out what happened to them and now Church is helping her.”

“Not to mention that he merged with Epsilon at some point recently too.” York stated quietly, nodding his head in confirmation of everything the red-haired woman had just said.

“How?” Washington shook his head as if to remove the cobwebs that were clearly keeping him from seeing whatever it was he had missed that made everything he had been about to reveal so obvious to the other two, “How did you…?”

Tex raised an eyebrow in mild amusement at his confusion, “It was more than obvious she was planning something like that given her actions in the past, Washington.” She remarked, “Plus, the two of them arranging for two of Church’s squad members to be sent here earlier than the time for the attack further proved that.”

Yes, Doc and Sheila’s arrival _had_ probably made it fairly apparent that something was up.

Had Carolina and Church _not_ been planning on doing something incredibly dangerous and potentially suicidal, they would have most likely not bothered with the extra effort and their entire team would have just met up with the Resistance as one group before the fighting took place.  Given what Doc had said about Grif’s condition, it seemed that they hadn’t yet tried getting Simmons to do the same simply due to it being harder to move the injured fighter at the moment.

“You also forgot about D and Theta too, didn’t you, Wash?” York remarked, a slight teasing quality to his question, “They filled us in on what had happened on your previous mission.”

“Indeed.” As if on cue, Delta appeared hovering next to York’s shoulder, “I thought it prudent that everyone be on the same page.”

Washington _had_ almost forgotten that Delta in particular would be even more privy to what Carolina had been preparing for all this time, as they had been working towards finding the Director together ever since York’s defection and her run-in with the altered-beyond-recognition Maine.

Naturally, since Theta had actually been there when it happened, North’s A.I. partner would have known about the whole incident with Church finding out what he really was as well as his subsequent merging with Epsilon.

The blonde felt rather embarrassed that he had nearly completely overlooked those crucial details.

Things had been increasingly difficult given everything that was going on, but that wasn’t really any kind of excuse as far as he was concerned, particularly since he had just been ranting about how important it was for everyone to be fully prepared minutes ago.

Washington sighed, “I can more than understand their reasoning.” More than enough, truly, given how much he had wished to just be free of the project, “But letting them do that?  Facing it all alone…?”

“It says a lot about her bond with Church that Carolina is willing to even let him get involved.” Tex remarked quietly once the Above Grounder had trailed off.

Very true.  No doubt Carolina had always been preparing to handle the entire matter by herself, given how she had been approaching everything up until this point.

“ _All_ of us want to see that fucking bastard pay.” York stated, and there was a hard edge to his voice then that normally one didn’t equate to someone as friendly and easy-going as York tended to be.

Tex nodded, casting her dark gaze over to Washington to assure him, “We’ll be making sure that they don’t face it all on their own, even if it takes knocking their heads together to do it.”

Washington gave a slight nod, feeling oddly relieved by the comment.  After all, there was no reason why they couldn’t stop the relic’s activation and look out for a few friends all at the same time.

“Besides,” Tex’s face was still rather emotionless but there was an odd hesitancy looming in her words all the same, “I have…some things I’ll need to clear up with both of them when all is said and done.”

That was a very loaded remark, given just _what_ Tex had been withholding from the two of them in particular this entire time.  But, that was probably the closest any of the rest of them would ever get to her private thoughts on the subject.

 _Whatever_ it was she would say to Church and Carolina about their connections to one another, it was meant just for them and no one else.

“I’m just hoping not to get punched for once.” York remarked jokingly after that, “Or not get a gun pointed at my head.”

Tex snorted, “Yeah.  Good luck with that.”

Delta added in immediately afterwards, “York, the statistical probability of that given how volatile all potential situations would be at Sidewinder is quite low.”

The brown-haired man sighed sadly in response to their commentary, “You guys never let me just dream, huh?”

“You’ll just go ahead and do it anyway.” Tex stood up then, apparently deciding their business was done by this point.

York grinned, “Yeah, probably.”

He always had been the romantic type.  Washington couldn’t help but be in awe over that still, given everything that had happened to York following his defection from Above Ground.  In a way, his feelings for Carolina still holding as strong now as they had been back then was oddly hopeful, all things considered.

Tex gave them a curt nod before leaving, disappearing in the opposite direction of the get-together.

No doubt she had quite a bit on her mind.  She tended to always have a lot of thoughts, after all.  Despite her earlier comments on how Washington should just let the party be, he had a feeling she was going to be preparing for things to come well into the evening and early morning.

York smiled, patting Washington’s shoulder in the same comradely way he used to do before, “Want to go crash a party, Wash?” He asked, most likely only partially joking.

While it still wasn’t exactly something he thought it was necessarily a good idea for them to be doing, somehow Washington found himself nodding his head regardless as he felt a slight smile ghosting over his face.

*****

Kimball tapped her fingers on the side of the table, staring with a look that spoke volumes at the comings and goings of everyone around her.

After all, she was only here because Sarge had insisted on it.  His reasoning being that the Resistance leader had given permission for this _“danged shindig”_ to begin with, so it would boost morale if she attended.

 _“Besides,”_ Sarge had added after yet another “debate” with Doyle over the current Above Ground policy in regards to the Slums, _“Maybe getting away from politics and strategies for one day would help put things into perspective.  You’re liable to go cross-eyed with how often you’ve been staring at screens recently.”_

If Kimball stayed for another hour or so while mustering up smiles at any of the fighters who looked her way, she could probably leave without too much argument or eyebrow raising from her second-in-command.

Not that he was paying much attention to her now, stuck in a conversation with Doyle.  The two were talking amicably together, apparently catching up on old times.  She didn’t feel like intruding on that, no matter how surprised she had been to learn that Tucker’s tag-along was in fact the personal assistant to the Council.

He hadn’t been, the last time the two Above Grounders had met evidently.  Back when Sarge, Doyle, and a man named Butch had all been regular soldiers of Above Ground.  Only Sarge had continued on in a regular soldier’s life, at least until he found out just what the city was capable of doing to protect its secrets.  Doyle had found himself thriving in administrational duties, and Butch had become something of a special case in the military.

Though, from how the reminiscing went with Sarge and Doyle following that, it seemed as if their mutual friend’s end hadn’t been a pleasant one.

If nothing else, Kimball found that the whole situation certainly proved in a way just how small the world could be.

If Doyle wasn’t so stubborn in trying to justify certain actions of Above Ground, she supposed she would be more than keen on joining in their conversation.  But, she didn’t want to once again get into a debate at what was supposed to be a party.

Loud laughter rang out from another table.  Thanks to Donut, members of the Red and Blue Teams were gathered around what was an impromptu, but excellently put together ice cream bar there.

She smiled, a genuine one, at the enthusiasm found there and was truly glad that Tucker had gotten the chance to fulfill his earlier promise.

Caboose in particular seemed a match for Junior in his exuberance over the spectacle.  Despite Junior’s more alien features, both could nearly pass for siblings with the amount of chocolate sauce, sprinkles, and whip cream covering their faces.

“Not an ice cream fan, I take it?” Four Seven Niner’s conversational tone gave Kimball a start, and she looked over to see the tan woman taking a seat nearby.  In her hand was a coffee mug, its contents steaming.

Kimball shrugged, “Had some already before everyone else got to it.”

She received an impressed glint in dark eyes in response, “One of the perks of being in charge?”

The joke was enough to have Kimball smiling slightly again, “First dibs on an ice cream bar is one of the ones they _never_ tell you about.”

“Shame, that.  I bet more people would sign up for leadership roles if they knew about it.” The pilot looked down at her coffee in amusement, “I’d be more interested in getting first dibs on coffee myself.  The dregs are the worst.”

“Still doing maintenance on the air transport?” Kimball asked her.

Since coming here, the silver-armored pilot had pretty much been _living_ in the air transport, looking over all of the repairs that Jensen and Lopez had done and making further ones herself.  If she was needing caffeine to continue doing so through the late night hours, perhaps Kimball would need to draw up new plans after all.  They didn’t have too much time left at all before the offensive.

 _Two days._   She would never forget that deadline.

Four Seven Niner was apparently quite adept at readings people’s thoughts and troubled expressions, because she held up her free hand to stop Kimball’s internal rambles.

“The transport is as good as she’s ever been.  It is probably even in better shape now than when the army was using her.” She assured the other woman, “Your maroon-trimmed lieutenant and the Spanish-speaking robot really know their way around machinery.”

The Above Ground pilot shrugged then, adding in casually before Kimball could ask anything, “I just like to know any vehicle I will be piloting inside and out before first flight.”

“Oh.” The Resistance leader relaxed somewhat, glad that one potential cause for concern was negated.

“I’m just hopelessly addicted to this stuff, but can’t make it worth shit.  Unfortunately.” Four Seven Niner lamented with a tilt of her head to her drink, in way of further explanation about her earlier coffee remark, “My crew at Above Ground may have been morons who couldn’t listen to any instructions whatsoever, but the one thing I made sure they could do right was brew a decent cup.”

“If you’re looking for that here, you might want to try Donut.” Kimball offered conversationally.

She had learned to make suitable coffee herself out of necessity, but she had to admit Donut’s efforts always put anyone else’s to shame.  He always tried his hardest to save her a mug when he could.

One of those other perks to being in charge, she supposed.  Though she was polite enough not to brag about that in front of the pilot.  Being something of a coffee addict herself, Kimball knew that would be cruel.

“He’s the one in the pink armor, right?” Four Seven Niner was looking around contemplatively, “He had been here before, but…”

Ah, Doc had shown up a while ago.  Church and Carolina had arranged “shelter” for their Above Ground comrades as the preparations for the fighting at Sidewinder started getting heavily underway.  Given what their team had done in order to rescue Grif and Junior, it made sense that they would need to be away from the city for the moment.

The last Kimball had seen of the younger Red Team member in question, he’d been embracing the Above Grounder medic.  Then the lightish-red armored soldier was pulling Doc away from the celebration after the bespectacled brunette had said a few words of greeting to the other Resistance fighters he knew.

She smiled slightly, “You might want to wait and see if he pops up again later.”

Yes, Kimball certainly didn’t want to interrupt the two getting an obvious chance to reconnect.

Particularly not if she still wanted the _first dibs on awesome coffee_ perk she was getting now.

“Ah, thought that might be what was going on there.” The black-haired woman looked amused once more, nodding her head in understanding, “As long as I don’t find the two of them in the back of the transport later, it’s all fine by me.”

“Did that happen often?” Kimball honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the actual answer or not.

“More than you’d think.” There was a glint of mischief in her brown eyes, “Stopped when I let slip that I had a heavy duty water hose on board though.”

The mental image that brought on had Kimball sharing the pilot’s smirk.

“I remember that.  Wyoming didn’t think it was nearly as funny as Florida though.”

North was standing close to the two women with a smile on his face, taking the proffered seat next to Kimball as Four Seven Niner stood up to take her leave.

“That’s because the only things Wyoming thought were funny were those lame-ass knock-knock jokes of his.” She remarked.

There was another moment’s worth of nostalgia that floated between the two of them before the pilot excused herself to go mingle elsewhere, clutching her cup of coffee as if it was a lifeline.  North had apparently not wanted to ruin the Above Ground reminiscing by commenting on the less-than-stellar last few meetings he had with the white-armored Freelancer since then.

Kimball glanced around the area and noticed that Sarge and Doyle had just been joined by Doctor Grey, who was quickly striking up an animated conversation with Sarge in particular.

North seemed to notice her curiosity, “Apparently Doctor Grey knew Doyle back in Above Ground due to mandatory physicals and the like.” He said in way of explanation, frowning as he overheard bits of their conversation, “I am…not entirely sure how she and Sarge got onto the topic of robotic arms though.”

“I could take a few guesses.” Kimball noted wryly, largely due to Doctor Grey’s eccentricity and Sarge’s fondness for robots and cybernetics in general.  She sighed, noticing Doyle trying to be polite and looking decidedly out of place standing to the side of their energetic exchange, “I almost feel bad for him getting caught up in the midst of that.”

“The two of you weren’t exactly seeing eye-to-eye, I take it?” North asked curiously.

The dark-skinned woman turned her head away from the trio to fix the former Freelancer with a stare, frowning somewhat, “He seems capable at his job.  Plus, both Sarge and Doctor Grey seem to think he is all right, which says a lot to me.” She admitted carefully, knitting her brows together as she recalled their earlier conversations, “But, he wasn’t as sure about whether stopping Hargrove would mean that things would change for the Slums.”

Yes, the important thing was for the relic to be destroyed, or at least not activated as a massive doomsday weapon, and that Hargrove was stopped.  But, if preventing a coup from taking place didn’t help change Above Ground policy towards the Slums for the better?

Then there would most likely be _no_ hope of that ever happening, and Kimball didn’t want to dwell on that at the moment.  The Resistance leader didn’t want to think about how everything she and the others had worked and sacrificed so much for could all amount to so much nothing in the end.

“I think Sarge knows you’re the best person to convince Doyle of that besides himself.” North stated confidently, “You and everyone else here, that is.”

“So, he’s buttering him up then along with reminiscing?” When Kimball thought about it, it made a lot of sense.

“Having Doyle interact with everyone and actually seeing their stories certainly couldn’t hurt.” North smiled knowingly.

Kimball pondered that, wondering if later on it wouldn’t be worth it to try approaching the Above Ground assistant again.  A civil talk with the man, reiterating the general plight of the Slums residents and even illustrating some of the ways that Above Ground actions had negatively impacted its own citizens, could help sway his mind.

If she could do that, then maybe policy changes wouldn’t be so far-fetched after all.

“If you need evidence and not just hearsay, we can back you up as well.” North offered, glancing over his shoulder, “Right, Theta?”

The small, purple-armored hologram peered at Kimball shyly from his hiding spot behind North’s head, “Right!” He chirped, apparently happy to be able to be of assistance to his partner again, “Though I don’t think he’ll need much more convincing.  Mr. Doyle already understands things a lot better now.”

She had suspected as much.  In a lot of ways, Doyle’s earlier attitude had been very reminiscent of when she was being phenomenally stubborn in the face of something undeniable that she wasn’t in the mindset to acknowledge just yet.  The last defiant act before acceptance took over.

Recognizing it subconsciously, she supposed the urge to push the Above Grounder’s mindset beforehand had been too hard to resist.  Which of course, only made the middle-aged man dig his heels in further.

“Thank you, Theta.” She smiled at both North and the A.I.’s offer of assistance, “I’ll let you know if I need your help later.”

Actually, the concept of “evidence” they had brought up had just given her an idea of her own.  One that would perhaps let her have her say without yelling it, when all was said and done.

“Are you enjoying the party?” She switched topics now that she had a better plan on how to handle future conversations with Doyle underway.

The childlike figure nodded emphatically at the question, “It’s been really fun!” Theta exclaimed, the smile evident in his voice, “Junior is awesome.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Kimball shared a smile with North at how happy and carefree the A.I. Fragment sounded just then, knowing from the rather relieved look in the Freelancer’s eyes he was just as happy at seeing Theta enjoying himself as Theta was currently, “Tucker and North thought you two might get along.”

“Everyone else is really nice too!” Theta continued, voice carefree and energetic, “I even learned a few new words!”

“Oh?” The Resistance leader looked at the sudden grimace crossing North’s face just then curiously.

“Yeah!” Theta was so happy to be talking about the fun events he had just recently experienced that he didn’t seem to notice the Freelancer’s sudden demeanor change at the last part of their conversation at all, “Like, if someone eats ice cream too quickly and gets a headache, you can yell ‘Fu—!‘”

“That’s really only a grown-up thing to say, Theta.” North cut in quickly, looking both exasperated and amused all at once.

Kimball mouthed _“Tucker?”_ at that, trying not to smile too much herself out of sympathy.

 _”Tucker_ and _the lieutenants.”_ He mouthed back, and she leaned over and patted the blonde on the shoulder consolingly.

“You’ll learn a lot of colorful language around this group.” She remarked just then to Theta, lowering her voice conspiratorially a second later, “But, for North’s sake, maybe try to avoid repeating it too much.  All right?”

The man in question looked halfway relieved for her handling of the situation, yet further exasperated once again that she had worded her advice to the childlike A.I. that way.  Kimball smiled teasingly, especially since Theta seemed to like the idea of it being a “special occasion” sort of language.

“Ah!  Ms. Kimball?”

For the third time that day, Kimball was caught off-guard.  Though, she supposed, perhaps that was a sign that the party was having the positive effect of taking her mind off of things for the moment that Sarge had suggested it might.

Both she and North looked up from their friendly chatter, Theta hiding again behind the Freelancer due to his shyness.  They found their eyes landing on an uncomfortable Doyle, looking rather ill at ease for having interrupted in the first place.

The Above Grounder nodded slightly in way of greeting to them both, “I am sorry to interrupt the festivities.  Quite lively and nice, by the way,” he rambled awkwardly, “But before Sarge and Emily wandered off to discuss _something_ about the benefits of artificial livers, he mentioned you had something he thought I should peruse?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the older man in red looking up from a laughing conversation with Doctor Grey, mouthing out _“Show him your danged diary!”_ while the two added in an overly comical thumbs up gesture.

North looked on in mild amusement, having caught the exchange himself due to his sharp eyesight, and Theta peered out from behind his neck cautiously.  The Resistance leader quirked an eyebrow and tried not to look _too_ amused herself that apparently Sarge had figured out the same method she had thought of to perhaps finally convince Doyle of addressing the problems facing the Slums sooner rather than later.

“Of course.” She got up just then, “I was actually thinking today might be the best time to show you that.”

The older man raised an eyebrow incredulously, “Would that have been before or after we got into another pointless debate?”

Kimball shrugged, shooting a conspiratorial glance at the former Freelancer and his A.I. partner sitting nearby, “Hopefully that won’t happen this time.  But, the night’s still young and our friend Theta here has learned a few words that could be fitting if it comes down to that.”

She saw North roll his eyes in the background, shaking his head softly.  That, along with the look of utter confusion on Doyle’s face and the sudden eager clapping coming from Theta at the prospect of showing off his newfound vocabulary so quickly, nearly had the dark-skinned woman laughing out loud.

Inwardly, Kimball hoped that this would do the trick better than her previous method of trading shouted words with the Above Grounder had.

After all, the Slums would need all the support from Above Ground policy shapers they could get following everything if they were successful at Sidewinder.

*****

“Hey, C.T.  Checking out the party, huh?”

C.T. couldn’t help but grin in response to Tucker’s cheerful outburst as she approached.  After all of the heaviness that came with talking about events involving Freelancer and prepping for Sidewinder, having the chance to celebrate a bit was a welcome change of pace.

Hopefully, Wash and the other Freelancers could see the need for it too.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She easily slid into the seat across from her teammate and his son, smiling at Junior in particular, “I’d say someone has been looking forward to this for awhile.”

“Blargh!” Tucker’s son sounded as though he was smiling, even if it was hard to read that on his face due to many of his facial features being so completely foreign from a human’s.  Still, it was easy enough to spot the all-too cheerful gleam in his eyes that gave it away.

Junior’s face was covered in ice cream, as if he had simply dumped his head in a bowl.  Knowing that he had the same level of exuberance for food as Grif did, that honestly wouldn’t shock her.  After all, Junior had been _really_ looking forward to this ice cream party ever since Donut had let it slip following his rescue that Tucker had wanted to throw him one.

“Fuck, yeah!  When we party, we go all out!” Tucker was grinning proudly at Junior, a smear of whip cream on his face as well due to trying to have a contest earlier with his son.

The resultant brain freeze scream from Tucker had filled the entire bunker, with the whole escapade made even more comical by Caboose’s calm interjection seconds later that he had warned him that would happen if you ate ice cream too fast.

“Ice cream parties are the best!” Caboose spoke up suddenly from nearby, his face just as covered with ice cream and toppings as Junior’s, “Especially with sprinkles!”

“Sprinkles are pretty important.” C.T. agreed, going for a mix of cheerful and solemn seriousness as that seemed to fit the occasion in her younger teammate’s viewpoint, though she was obviously more cheerful given the smile plastered over her face.

“They make ice cream more fun.” Caboose was nodding his head, evidently finding the topic very thought-provoking, “Plus, no one is puking like at that last party.”

“Yeah, that one was fun too though.  Save the puking part, and the massive headache afterwards.” Tucker frowned for a second in recollection before smiling again when he grasped Junior’s shoulder, “But, this one is definitely better since everyone’s together.  Right, Junior?”

Junior nodded his head again, diving into another bowl of ice cream right alongside Caboose.

“Al ritmo que van, es probable que se puke en esta fiesta también.” _{“At the rate they are going, there will probably be puke at this party too.”}_

C.T. started, having not noticed that Lopez and Sheila had been hovering close by the table as well.

She smiled slightly at them, noticing that the two robots were still standing shoulder-to-shoulder.  They had been quite close ever since the gunmetal green robot had arrived at the bunker with her Above Ground teammate Doc.  Tucker had made gagging noises under his breath when they had walked up to each other initially and seemed to look deeply into one another’s eyes.  It had taken merely one glare from Tex to get the teasing about “ _robot loving_ ” out of his system a second later.

“Are you two enjoying the party?” The brunette asked, nodding her head in greeting.

Sheila tilted her head slightly in response to the question, “Yes, it is good to see everyone doing so well at the moment.”

“Siempre y cuando no se queda bloqueado limpieza posterior, es tolerable.” _{“So long as I don't get stuck cleaning up afterwards, it's tolerable.”}_

The female robot slumped her shoulders slightly, an oddly wistful note in her voice when she spoke next, “I just wish that Church and Simmons were here as well.”

Lopez said nothing, though he reached over and grasped her shoulder, causing Sheila to look over at him and pat his hand reassuringly.  Out of the corner of her eye, the former Freelancer could see that even Tucker was rather moved by the comforting affection on display there as she could see a soft sort of smile on his face instead of any kind of joking remark forming.

“I know it probably wasn’t easy to come here, given that.” C.T. began, as from what she could gather neither Above Grounder had necessarily been entirely eager to come to the bunker at the thought of leaving their teammates behind, even if they had been glad to reunite with some of their Resistance friends all the same.

Sheila shook her head slightly as if to get rid of any lingering sadness that might be on display and to reassure those around her that she was fine, “I believe Church and Agent Carolina both had their reasons for insisting on it.” She said matter-of-factly, “His arguments made sense from a logic stance, at least.”

“Simmons will probably be here soon as well then.” C.T. stated consolingly, “Along with Grif.”

“Probably best that the fat-ass won’t come until after the party.” Tucker noted jokingly, though it was obvious it was more in a way to cover up the concern that had flickered in his eyes at the mention of his injured and absent friend, “We wouldn’t have enough ice cream otherwise.”

Lopez shuddered at his comment, turning to Sheila conversationally.

“En una ocasión casi tomó el brazo de alguien fuera de un panecillo. Fue aterrador.” _{“He once nearly took someone's arm off for a bagel.  It was terrifying.”}_

“Besides,” Tucker continued in that same joking manner as before, “Church isn’t exactly the party type.  Carolina doesn’t strike me as one either.”

“She used to be quite fun at them, actually.” C.T. smiled slightly, remembering the few occasions in which the redhead had been dragged to events with the other Freelancers and let loose just a little.

It tended to actually scare most of the others when it did happen, though.  Which in turn made the whole thing even more entertaining.

“Seriously?” Tucker looked at C.T. in disbelief.

She nodded, “York could probably tell you more though.”

As far as she knew, the two had actually _met_ at some kind of club.  York would always get a dopey grin on his face whenever he talked about it, which Carolina would roll her eyes at and shake her head before informing all of them that they had actual work and training to do.

“That might be too close to imagining Church and Tex’s dating life for my taste.” Tucker mock shuddered at the mental image that apparently put into his brain, “So many safe words all over the fucking place.”

“You mean like a vault?” Caboose interjected just then, absolutely serious.

Tucker sighed, “Probably too literal, but, yeah.  What the hell.”

“York does like lock picking.” The blonde seemed to think all of this made absolute sense, nodding his head slightly at the notion.

The others in the conversation, save Junior who was so engrossed in his ice cream and the lieutenants plus Private Palomo, sitting nearby all glanced at each other.  Caboose didn’t seem to notice though, once again focused on his own ice cream.

“At any rate, they’ll be fine.  So, let’s try to enjoy this while we can, huh?” Tucker said to Sheila, both to reassure her and no doubt change the suddenly odd conversation thread.

The robot nodded, “Of course.”

With that, things shifted to random conversations amongst everyone.  C.T. saw the two robots eventually wander off to a separate corner of the space out of the corner of her eye.

Tucker raised an eyebrow at her suggestively when he noticed that they were holding hands, and she smiled slightly in return.  Tucker apparently decided not to make any outward joking remarks due to how personal the moment between the two seemed to be.  Also, no doubt because he was still afraid Tex would somehow notice it despite her not being present at all.

For her part, C.T. wondered what it was they might be discussing alone together and thinking of the last conversation she’d had with her partner right before what would become his final offensive, painfully enough.  Despite the fact that someone might argue that they were simply two V.I., she hoped the robots would have a happier ending than that at least following whatever was to come in the next few days.

She hoped that for everyone, really.

“C.T., it is good to see you here!”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”  The former Freelancer smiled in reply at Andersmith who had, thankfully enough, stopped trying to constantly refer to her as “Agent Connecticut”.  He sat down across from Caboose, his own bowl of ice cream on hand.

The lieutenant nodded approvingly at her words, glancing at Caboose and Junior nearby, “It was very thoughtful of Captains Donut and Tucker to arrange all of this.” He stated happily, “It’s also very moving to see Captain Caboose lifting Junior’s spirits as well.”

C.T. was fairly certain it had more to do with Caboose and Junior both happening to be partial to ice cream, but she opted not to say considering how much Andersmith’s own mood seemed to be lifted by thinking about the whole party from his very different perspective, “Junior had gone through a lot.  It is great if this helps him in any way.”

Andersmith nodded his head again in agreement, blue eyes lighting up with the smile beaming on his face, “It certainly helps to boost morale for everyone else too.”

C.T. couldn’t argue with that.  Even with the looming tasks ahead of them, people seemed at least slightly more at ease at the moment.  Anything that helped do that, at least for a short while if nothing else, was a plus in her book.

The lieutenants had started to scatter, the brunette noticed.  Kaikaina and Volleyball had both patted Junior on the shoulder affectionately before leaving arm-in-arm, and it was now just Jensen conversing with Palomo at the far end of the table.

Andersmith was just coming back to his seat from fetching Caboose and Junior more bowls, to which Tucker had looked at him thankfully for as he was trying to discuss something with his son and younger teammate that seemed to somehow involve hand puppetry.

The former Freelancer blinked, deciding that she _really_ needed to not tune out so much when she recollected.

“My wife would have enjoyed this.” Andersmith said, almost absent-mindedly, “She loved lively gatherings.”

C.T. said nothing, not sure if he had actually meant to speak out loud or not given the slightly faraway look crossing over his features.  The older lieutenant _had_ mentioned having a wife before.  Given the way his eyes dulled over when he had done so previously, it didn’t take too many guesses as to why he always talked of her in the past tense.

It also explained why he had joined the Resistance so much later in life than the other newer recruits he was counted amongst had.

“A…” C.T. spoke up finally, but had to pause to search for the proper wording to address _him_ to someone not already familiar with the story, “Close friend of mine would have enjoyed this too.” She allowed herself to smile wistfully, remembering her partner’s talks of loud gatherings and rambunctious outings, “He liked gatherings like this.  Reminded him of family.”

The older lieutenant nodded appreciatively, looking grateful that she hadn’t asked any prying questions about what he had said but had still chosen to address it in a different way, “It would be ideal if we could have more reasons to have these types of events in the future, don’t you think?”

The Above Grounder glanced around at everyone then.  She saw Tucker babying his laughing alien child and Caboose.  She saw Sheila and Lopez having their quiet talk off to the side of everyone else, and the more animated discussion going on between Palomo and Jensen currently.

She saw everyone just living and trying to enjoy the moment regardless of what might lay ahead.  She thought of those who weren’t here as well.

When she looked back at Andersmith, the brunette couldn’t help the slight upwards tugging of her lips at the earnest and all too hopeful look in his eyes as he waited for her response.

“Most definitely.” C.T. agreed.

*****

Lavernius Tucker had been to _a lot_ of parties in his lifetime.  We’re talking _shitloads_ of them.

He’d always been a “life of the party” type of person, after all.  From innocent little get-togethers usually of the _very boring_ variety, to loud raves with a lot of heavy drinking and a whole lot of stuff he would never probably feel comfortable talking about in front of certain people.  You know, the types of parties that were x-rated all the way.

Sadly, not that he had a lot of success in those ones compared to half the shit he’d heard Kai talk about having done just to see if she couldn’t burst a blood vessel in her brother.  But, hey, being _around_ the vicinity when that type of sexy stuff was going down had to count for something, right?

Still, this little the-world-as-we-know-it-might-be-ending-soon-so-let’s-just-do-something-for-the-heck-of-it party?

It was probably the best damn party Tucker had ever been to, x-rated raves and all.

Even getting the chance to have a brain freeze with his son, who was laughing and acting more like himself again, was more awesome than the Slums dweller could describe.  Getting to do so with so many of the people he counted as friends and even as a surrogate family now?  Even more so.

Tucker _really_ was rooting for victory in the upcoming _“stopping the doomsday weapon”_ plan and some massive amounts of comeuppance to boot in the process.  Still, getting to hang out with everyone before, just in case, was something he was immensely grateful for.

He’d have to thank Donut for remembering about his ice cream party remark from a little while ago, and also Kai and her friends too for helping to set the whole thing up the second Kimball had announced they would be having the night off.

 _Fucking amazing_ is what they all were.

It was too bad the fat-ass wasn’t here as well, even if that gave everyone else the possible chance to stuff themselves silly for once.  He supposed it just had to do knowing that Grif was doing marginally better now, given Doc and Sheila’s earlier remarks in particular about what his friend’s current condition was.

Tucker wasn’t about to ask those two any more questions right now since they’d just been reunited with their significant others.  He could literally _feel_ the electricity between the two robots in the room still, even after they’d moved farther away— _bow-chicka-bow-wow!_

But, yeah, life couldn’t get much better than it was at this moment.  Threat of impending destruction looming over their heads notwithstanding.

“Hey, Tucker!” Caboose was calling over to him from where he was seated across from Junior, his son trying to show Tucker’s teammate how to balance a spoon on his nose with little success.  It had fallen off for the fifteenth time when he’d turned to address the teal fighter, “Do you think Freckles would want ice cream too?”

The dark-skinned man frowned, “It would be pretty hard to get a gun to eat ice cream, don’t you think?”

Caboose shook his head in a mock pitying way that his son was quick to mimic much to Tucker’s amusement, “Silly Tucker.  Of course he cannot eat it!  It would make the bullets and confetti all wet and soggy.”

Right because evidentially soggy bullets and confetti, a recent addition Doctor Grey had apparently thought would be good for Freckles’ gun body, would definitely be a deal breaker.

Tucker raised an eyebrow, “Then why ask at all?”

Caboose scoffed, exchanging a look with Junior as if this should have been a no-brainer, “Because it is only polite to include him!”

Obviously.  Didn’t want the trigger-happy Virtual Intelligence stuck in an assault rifle to feel left out.

Tucker closed his eyes and sighed, “If you think it would help him feel included then sure, why the fuck not?”

Sometimes it was better to just go with Caboose’s train of logic than argue against it.

“I left him in my room because he gets shy at parties.” Caboose was grinning now, barely able to contain his excitement, “Can I bring it to him there?”

“So long as you don’t spill anything and use _my_ sheets to clean it up.  Again.” The Resistance fighter still remembered that one time he found ketchup and mustard all over his bed following Caboose’s attempt at mimicking Grif’s horrible eating habits.

Tucker saw the pleading look crossing over his child’s face sitting nearby and smiled again, “Why don’t you let Junior help you pick out the toppings?”

“Blargh!” Junior was beaming at the notion, his eyes lighting up at the prospect.  Freckles’ new confetti trick had already endeared the V.I. to the boy.

“Oh, this will be so much fun!” Caboose was already standing up, absent-mindedly wiping at the mess on his face.

Tucker would have to clean Junior’s later, once he had calmed down from the sugar rush that was no doubt in store for all of them.  The younger Blue Team member grabbed the tiny alien’s hand before heading over to the carefully laid-out bar complete with handwritten calligraphy cards of lightish-red coloring detailing exactly what was what as Donut went all out for _any_ kind of event he helped plan.

“Let’s pick out the best sprinkles!”

That comment from his teammate left Tucker wondering what would constitute the “best” sprinkles for a V.I., while Junior was emphatically agreeing to the sentiment with a cheerful “Honk!” of his own.

The Slums dweller smiled slightly, watching the two of them for a moment.  As sometimes insanely frustrating as Caboose could be, Tucker had to admit that his childlike enthusiasm could be oddly helpful at times.  He was glad to see being around Caboose in a setting like this seemed to put Junior more at ease.

With his son and neediest teammate currently distracted, he was able to focus his attention elsewhere.

Sarge and Doctor Grey were chatting it up, a dynamic he was honestly torn between being more amused by or terrified of.  They could both be a bit scary at times on their own, so it was downright nightmare-inducing to think about what they might get into _together_.

Kimball and Doyle had walked out earlier, though he supposed it was a good sign that the earlier tension between the two seemed to have currently more or less faded.  It hadn’t been the _good_ kind of tension either, but the kind that came around when you were _really_ tempted to take a swing at someone else.

Sheila and Lopez were still hanging out in the corner that they’d headed to before, and Tucker really wasn’t about to interrupt whatever was going on between the two of them currently.  Even if it was probably a lot of sweet nothings being murmured in electronic Spanish.  He was fairly certain they couldn’t make out since neither robot had faces underneath their helmets, but fuck it if he was going to chance that since if he was wrong that sort of thing could scar him for life.

For similar reasoning, as _much_ as he wanted to thank Donut and Kai for all of this, Tucker was in no hurry to run out and find them either given who they had wandered off hand-in-hand earlier with.

Even if the possibility of running into Kai and Volleyball in particular could be massively _hot_ , it probably wouldn’t be worth the beating either girl would be liable to give him for interrupting them.  Or the one Grif would undoubtedly threaten him with when he found out about it later.

Jensen and Palomo had moved to sit near C.T. and Andersmith, the four engaged in cheerful talk about pretty much anything _but_ the upcoming battle.  Apparently the newer recruits had turned the tide of the conversation to C.T.’s involvement in the whole air transport escapade since the three of them had been with Washington, Caboose, and Donut back then.

Tucker smiled slightly at the exchange, glad that the former Freelancer on his team seemed to have some erstwhile supporters in the lieutenants at least.  Still, he didn’t really want to get involved in that particular conversation himself at the moment.  The dark-skinned man had recounted his whole part in the rescue mission more times than he could count already, and he hadn’t even been back in the bunker for all that long!

He was just about to simply close his eyes for a second when he noticed York and Washington walking into the area.  The tan-armored Freelancer was grinning at everyone and saying something over his shoulder to Washington, who seemed _way_ too awkward at the prospect of being there.

Tucker was torn between wanting to smirk at the sight or frown.

Granted, he already knew that Washington wasn’t what one would call a “ _party person_ ” as the blonde was only probably slightly more of one than someone like Church, for instance.

Though, honestly?  That wasn’t saying a whole lot since Tucker was pretty sure Church was trying to develop the super-power to be able to make get-togethers burst into flame with just his scowl whenever he had to be present at one.

Washington was also probably super-uncomfortable around any of the Resistance fighters save the ones that had been in his Ultra Secret Kickass Super Soldier Club before given their past meetups.  But, _still_.

For a whole shitload of reasons that Tucker didn’t want to dwell on right now, he was fairly certain that Washington was probably one of the people who most deserved a damn break and some fucking ice cream to boot.

He glanced over to Caboose and Junior once more.  They were still debating their choices over at the bar because, evidently, picking out flavors and toppings for a purely symbolic gesture to a talking gun was a very time-intensive affair.

Tucker then caught C.T.’s eyes briefly, and gestured his head somewhat towards the two.  She turned her gaze from them over to her two former teammates along with Tucker, realization dawning instantly in her eyes.  His brown-armored teammate gave a slight nod in affirmation that she would keep an eye on the _kiddies_.

Not that there was anything too flammable lying around to worry about with Caboose, but if the two looked up and Junior happened to notice his dad wasn’t around?  Well, he seemed to be quite fond of C.T. and the lieutenants, so he’d have plenty of reassurance that Tucker would be coming back soon.

Tucker wasn’t quite sure why her lips seemed to curve upwards into a knowing sort of smirk when he mouthed his thanks and moved with only a slight limp towards the direction of the other two Freelancers.  But, he was too focused on reaching Washington in particular before the guy decided the party scene wasn’t for him and decided to bolt to really dwell on it.

“Hey, you guys nearly missed it!” Tucker joked, sliding over to the wall that the steel-armored Freelancer in particular seemed to be glued to.

“You know me, always fashionably late to everything.” York replied back, his grin widening.

An odd look crossed over Washington’s face at the opening comment from Tucker, “Missed what?  People getting stomach cramps?”

“Well, that has only happened to Palomo so far and it was kind of hilarious.” Tucker recalled the earlier event of the aqua-trimmed fighter deciding he was going to try eating a whole bowl of marshmallow sauce in one go.  Honestly, he was actually sort of impressed that the private hadn’t puked following that.

Granted, Tucker still wasn’t sure if he should be feeling more amusement or pity for the dark-skinned young man since he _may_ have been one of the people who dared him to try doing it.  But, mentioning that right about now probably wouldn’t make it a selling point.

“Ah, so that _wasn’t_ you screaming over a brain freeze earlier then?” York asked in obvious amusement himself as the Above Grounder was always one to stay positive towards the newer recruits, if he could.  Tucker seemed to recall both Sarge and Tex stating that York babied them a bit too much.

Tucker shrugged, “Getting to have ice cream with my kid again really excited me, what can I say?”

The brown-haired man nodded his head in understanding at that, “Speaking of Junior, where is the little guy?” He asked quickly, looking around, “I wanted to introduce him to D since he and Theta seemed to get along so well earlier.”

Tucker had a feeling that had more to do with Theta resembling a child in a lot of respects himself.  But, he knew Junior would be naturally curious and on his best behavior for another small, armored humanoid that floated in front of him too.

“He’s hanging out with Caboose at the bar trying to figure out what ice cream to get for Freckles.” Tucker informed him, “If you and Delta are able to speed that along, I’ll be fucking impressed.”

“Never know until we try.  Right, D?” York asked the hologram that suddenly appeared over his shoulder.

“That is correct.” Delta nodded his green head slightly at the question, before tilting it thoughtfully, “Though I am curious as to _why_ they would be engaging in such an activity to begin with.”

His human partner shrugged before trying to give a reason, “They probably just think it’s fun.”

“I see.” The A.I. seemed to not fully understand given the even more pronounced head tilt he gave just then, but seemed willing to at least accept the explanation York had given him all the same.

“It’s kind of like whenever I tried getting Carolina to go out on dates when she was in the training room.” The Freelancer elaborated further.

Delta nodded, “So, it is a practice in futility then?”

Tucker had to fight with himself desperately to suppress the snicker he had at that moment, something in which he should seriously get a medal for.  He even saw Washington raise an amused blonde eyebrow slightly at the A.I.’s comment.

York sighed, “Glad you’re back, D.” He muttered, face slightly red in embarrassment as he gave a quick wave to Tucker and his friend before heading in the direction of the ice cream bar.

Washington used this opportunity to latch onto the same comment that had so thoroughly confused the A.I. Fragment before, “Why _are_ they making a bowl for Freckles?”

The teal fighter shrugged, “It’s _Caboose_.  It’s easier sometimes just to go along with his ideas than question them.”

Oh boy, had he learned _that_ the hard way over the years.  Tucker could have avoided so many unnecessary headaches if he’d just started doing that way earlier when the two were first teamed up together.

“But…” Washington trailed off, but was still frowning as if he wanted to argue the point further.

“Look, dude.  It makes Caboose happy and, for some reason, Freckles seems to like it too.  It’s usually best to keep any intelligent gun happy.” Tucker sighed, “Besides, Junior seems to be having fun, so it can’t be too bad, right?”

Washington paused, as if debating it inwardly for a moment more before smiling somewhat, “No, I suppose not.”

“Good.” Tucker grinned back, “Though I’m more shocked to see _you_ here at all.”

The blonde sighed, “I suppose there is _some_ merit in these kinds of events.” He admitted carefully, “So long as extra work goes into future preparations later.”

“There you go!” Tucker’s grin became wider just then, “See?  You can have fun and _still_ be a fucking killjoy all in the same breath.”

The look Washington gave him following that was priceless, “Wanting to make sure a mission as vital as this one succeeds isn’t me being a _killjoy_ , Tucker.”

No, he wasn’t wrong about that.  But, fuck it if Tucker was going to concede _that_ easily!

“True, but if we stress ourselves out to death all the time beforehand, how is that going to help anything either?” The Resistance fighter countered.

Washington frowned, “I _just_ said—“

Tucker held up a hand to stop him, “Whatever, dude.  I’m just glad you showed up.”

That completely shut up whatever retort Washington had on his lips.  The Freelancer paused, as if he had to process what Tucker had just said, his freckled face even going momentarily red, “Y—you are?”

Tucker decided it probably wasn’t a good time to tease the Above Grounder on the oddly high lilt his voice just acquired, since he was fairly certain if he did that Washington would either walk away or kill him.  Maybe both.

“Hell yeah!” The younger man told him instead, “If anyone deserves to relax and celebrate Junior being back home, it’s you.  Particularly since this whole thing would have probably been a lot crappier if you hadn’t helped me out before.”

Yeah.  Tucker _may_ be the shit, but even he knew that if Four Seven Niner and Washington’s impromptu rescue hadn’t occurred when it did then Felix and Locus would have killed both him and Doyle on the spot.

Washington said nothing.  Given how unreadable his face became just then, Tucker wondered if somehow reminding the Freelancer of how reckless he had been had pissed the other man off again.

Surprisingly, instead, Washington’s gray eyes trailed down to Tucker’s leg, “How’s the injury?”

Suddenly it was Tucker’s turn to be a little self-conscious, as he remembered how much care Washington had gone through with treating the gunshot wound when they had been on the ground transport together.  The feel of his fingers on his calf, and—

Let’s just say, Tucker liked to think he played it off well because he was fucking _great_ at acting.

“O—oh, you know.  After you made me visit the crazy doctor when we got here,” he continued before Washington could argue with his choice of wording there as he knew the blonde was something of friends with Doctor Grey despite her odd bedside manner, “She said I was pretty much good to go if I don’t put too much pressure on it for a while.”

“Yet you’re going to Sidewinder.” The older man said flatly.

“Dude, how can I not when it will literally decide if we all live or die?” Tucker shot back testily, “Besides, Doctor Grey said it will be even better by then.  So, shove it!”

“Tucker.” Washington seemed to want to argue the point more, but sighed and closed his eyes upon seeing the determined, challenging expression flitting across Tucker’s face, “Never mind then.” He conceded, before looking at the Resistance fighter standing there again with a slight frown, “But shouldn’t you at least be resting it _now_?”

“I _was_.” Tucker smirked, “But, I wanted to make sure I caught up with you before you decided to split without saying anything.”

Washington stared at him then as if he had just grown a second head, looking shocked and oddly red-faced once more.

Tucker carried on, “Like I said, _you_ definitely deserve to be here, Wash.  So, stick around.”

Washington opened his mouth to say something, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides, before apparently calming himself and deciding against it.  Instead, he nodded mutely and glanced in the direction of the ice cream bar and Junior.

“How…is he?” He finally haltingly asked, tone serious, “I can only imagine…”

Tucker caught his sentiment even after he had trailed off uncomfortably, no doubt afraid to finish the comment in front of the child’s father, “Yeah, Junior has definitely been through shit and you can tell.” He glanced from his son to Washington again, “But, you said it yourself, remember?  He’s _strong_.”

The Slums dweller waved an arm out over the entire bunker as he continued, “Plus, Junior doesn’t have just me, but a whole shitload of people here backing him up too.”

Weirdoes and assholes though most of them might be, but they all definitely had Junior’s back when push came to shove.  Tucker had never been more grateful for that than he had been these last few days.

Washington nodded, looking slightly assured at the sentiment, “He’s lucky.”

“Damn straight!” Tucker grinned again, a sudden thought crossing his mind at the Freelancer’s obvious concern for his kid, “Want to say hi?”

Washington stared at him in open surprise at the question, apparently thinking himself too much an outsider in this group still for that to have been a remote plausibility, “But—!“

“You’re already met him, remember?  Reintroductions are easy.” Tucker reasoned, “This way you can see how he’s doing for himself instead of just asking me.”

The blonde gave a sharp shake of his head, “I don’t want to intrude—!“

“Trust me, Wash, I wouldn’t have offered if it was some major hoopla.” Tucker informed him, “Besides, he’s asked about you.”

That caused Washington to pause, “He _has_?”

A nod, “You _did_ help Sarge, C.T., and everyone else save him.  Remember?” He recounted Junior’s version of the events leading to his rescue from Above Ground custody, “Plus, you brought me back too.  That makes you a pretty big hero in his book!”

Washington’s eyes widened, the notion apparently too implausible for him to fully comprehend.

“Don’t want to get your hopes up _too_ high, but you _might_ have gotten even higher on his esteem list than Freckles.” Tucker informed the Freelancer in a conspiratorial whisper.

He raised a blonde eyebrow, “The _gun_ he’s helping Caboose pick ice cream for.”

“Yeah, talking guns are _pretty_ hard to beat on a kid’s hero list.” Tucker intoned seriously.

It was pretty true, actually.  Particularly when said talking gun _also_ shot out confetti.  The Slums dweller was fairly certain he would have even volunteered to be Caboose’s best friend if he was Junior’s age and had seen that.

Washington smiled slightly, “I guess I should be honored then.”

“Absolutely.” The Resistance fighter grinned back at him.

Since the Above Grounder hadn’t seemed too willing to move just yet, Tucker acted without thinking because he was fairly certain he wouldn’t have had the nerve to do so at all, reaching out and grasping one of Washington’s hands.

“T—Tucker?” Washington reacted to the sudden contact, but he didn’t recoil or pull back as Tucker halfway suspected he might being caught off-guard.

The younger man took that as a good sign, smiling encouragingly before turning around and walking towards where Junior and the others were, Washington seemingly still so stunned he simply followed behind him.

“Come on, let’s go!” Tucker didn’t notice the slight hitch in his voice just then, though the heat on his face was a whole lot harder to ignore.

There was silence from behind him for a second, before Washington actually _chuckled_.

“Dude, that is sort of creepy.” Tucker remarked, still not daring to look back in fear that he would completely lose his nerve at this point and realize what he was doing, “I didn’t know you _could_ laugh.”

Washington didn’t rise to that particular bait, apparently too amused by the situation for that, “I was just thinking,” he said instead, “About all of the times you kept joking about me wanting to hold hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tucker glanced back finally, not sure if he wanted to know where this was going as his heart was speeding up now too.

“Now you’re doing the same.” Washington mused.

Tucker rolled his eyes, the heat on his face feeling like an inferno at this point, “I’ll buy you dinner later if you want.” He offered, remembering how his comments had usually gone in the past when it came to all of the “ _hand holding_ ” events before changing his mind, “No, fuck it!  We’re at an ice cream party.  Just eat some of that with me and Junior.”

“Deal.” The smile in Washington’s voice was oddly noticeable and comforting in a way Tucker would not have expected before now.

When Washington’s fingers suddenly squeezed back tightly around Tucker’s own, the teal-armored man was more than just a little surprised at how happy he felt at the way too familiar gesture by this point.  He wasn’t, however, sure _what_ to make at how weak both his knees suddenly felt just then.

Despite the redness of his face though, Tucker really didn’t want to let go of Washington’s hand even after they reached the table and the others.

*****

It had only taken Bitters a few hours to decide to bail on the party.

 _Not_ that he didn’t think the idea of blowing off steam was a sound one, nor that they didn’t deserve the chance to do so before quite possibly not being able to stop the destruction of the Slums below them.

But, he wasn’t in as high of spirits at the prospect as his friends were currently, and dragging them down as a result of his own attitude wasn’t something he was too keen on doing.

He knew that the captains who were present in the bunker deserved the respite, as did his friends.  Junior most certainly deserved it too following the reunion with his dad.

Plus, He’d been a bit of a dick to Palomo in particular following recent events.  So, if having ice cream with a half-alien child and talking comics with Jensen tonight _without_ Bitters’ patented brand of extreme sarcasm getting in the way would in some small way make up for that to the private, Bitters could do that.  Especially for a childhood friend who, in his own odd and annoying manner, had really only been trying to be helpful.

His bailing on the party really had nothing to do with the fact that a certain yellow-trimmed lieutenant hadn’t shown up at all for it.

That was only, like, forty percent of Bitters’ reasoning.  Fifty _tops_.

When the kiss-ass didn’t want to be found, it was apparently near impossible to track him down.  Yet, in every other instance, he was always sure to pop up at the worst possible time.

The whole thing would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the fact that Bitters had been _trying_ to talk privately with Matthews since getting out of the clinic.

Now it was seriously just starting to piss him off, and anyone who shrugged and thought _“So what else is new?”_ about that was going to get punched in the fucking face.

So, here Bitters was now patrolling through the bunker while looking for his friend.  Fuck, he couldn’t even say _roommate_ anymore because Matthews had started sleeping different hours in order to avoid talking to him.

The lieutenant passed by a few other Resistance fighters who had also opted out of the festivities, either to have time to themselves or to prepare more for the upcoming offensive.  He occasionally stopped to ask one of them if they had seen Matthews, but beyond vague recollections of way earlier in the day which were most likely useless by this point, there was nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Agent Tex cleaning her weapons for the umpteenth time.  Scarily proficient as she was with them, given how much care she seemed to put into their upkeep, they were liable to temporarily blind an opponent even before she pulled the triggers.  The second her dark eyes landed on him, a red eyebrow raised slightly as if challenging him to even attempt to ask her something.  Naturally, the younger man darted away as fast as he could.

Yeah, it was probably safer to ask practically _anyone else_ instead.  He’d heard the rumors about what happened to people who wasted the former Freelancer’s time with whatever she deemed as “ _pointless_ ” small talk.

Rounding another corner, Bitters wandered unknowingly into the shower area.  From the sound of the water running, it seemed as if someone was using the free time to their advantage.

Maybe it was Matthews.  Catching him coming out of the shower would definitely make it difficult for the slightly younger lieutenant to try getting away without talking first.

Before thinking about how incredibly stupid that line of reasoning was, he had stepped into the room.  In hindsight later, Bitters would note that unintentionally trapping someone in the showers probably wouldn’t have turned out that well either, but for entirely different reasons than the nightmare-inducing scene he ended up witnessing.

Instead of Matthews, he walked into the shower room only to hear all too familiar giggling and whispered voices that were clearly _not_ intended for eavesdroppers.  Yeah, the rookie quickly realized he had concocted the dumbest plan ever and was now going to get punished for it.

Seriously.  There wasn’t enough steam in the world to cover up the very naked bodies of Captain Donut and the Above Ground medic named DuFresne who had come here earlier that day.  They were both plastered together, extremely wet and under a single running showerhead.

“O—oh, hey, Bitters!”

Donut, to his credit, while just about _as_ lightish-red as his armor from his feet up to the tips of his hair, seemed to recover from the shock of someone walking in on them much quicker than an increasingly red Doc did and even smiled sheepishly, “What’s up?”

The lieutenant couldn’t be certain if the blush Donut was sporting was due to the heat of the shower or his intrusion and, frankly, Bitters really didn’t want to dwell on it either way.

Doc finally managed to squeak out, “S—sorry about that!  We _maybe_ should have remembered to have closed the stall door, huh?”

Even in their shock at him stumbling in on them, both of them were still trying to be polite.  It nearly broke Bitters’ brain to think about it.

Especially when he considered just how frantic they must have been to have forgotten about that _stall door detail_.  At least, judging by the haphazard pile of clothes strewn about the space now that he was actually actively looking around at _anywhere_ else but them.

Bitters mumbled an apology and was backing away as quick as he possibly could, only catching glimpses of Doc’s hands on Donut’s backside and the water running down their bodies.  He tried focusing on anything else instead again, like the pink-framed glasses that were resting on top of Donut’s dirty blonde hair now.  They were Doc’s, he was pretty sure.

Doc lowered his head down to connect their lips again just as Bitters turned the corner once more and the showers were thankfully out of sight, probably in an attempt to drown out any lingering embarrassment the couple had over the interruption and to continue what they’d been in the middle of.

Bitters’ face felt like a fucking furnace by that point.  No wonder the two of them had left even earlier than he had despite Captain Donut’s well-known love of mingling at social events.

Not that he could blame them, really.  He knew that something had happened earlier in the Slums between the two of them during those fake peace talks.  Now that the two of them had the chance to reconnect for a moment at least before things kicked up again, it was in a way completely understandable that they would want that time together.

Bitters just hoped one of them would remember to close the stall door at some point so that they didn’t get walked in on again.

When he backtracked past Tex once more, the woman looked up and caught the lingering redness on his face and fucking _smirked_.  Bitters couldn’t help but have a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly what it was he had just seen.  The former Freelancer must have thought his reaction would be too amusing, so she simply neglected to warn him about it beforehand.

Not that he would ever accuse Tex of that to her face, of course.  He hopefully wanted to live past this night.

Bitters hurried past the mythic cybernetic shark-lady of Project Freelancer, going a different route this time around that passed by the makeshift clinic.

It didn’t take him too long afterwards to find Matthews, actually.

Thankfully, by that point, the lingering blush from his accidental intrusion onto Doc and Donut’s “ _shower time_ ” had faded for the most part.

It looked like Matthews was doing inventory on some of the large weapons crates that had been in the bunker when Tex had “acquired” it for her future use.  The auburn-haired rookie’s back was turned towards him.  His teammate was peering into a crate that he apparently had just opened, which probably explained why he was even still around in the first place.

If he had seen Bitters coming this way earlier, the orange-trimmed lieutenant would have only seen a fleeting glimpse of Matthews’ back as he made a speedy get-away since that had been how most encounters between them had gone since he had been let out of the clinic.

Bitters took a deep breath.  He was suddenly, and annoyingly, nervous about what he should say now that he finally had the chance.

So, he settled on: “Still trying to kiss-ass, huh?”

Matthews flinched at his voice, glancing over his shoulder at Bitters cautiously.

The space in-between the crates wasn’t too wide and Bitters was standing in front of it, so the younger lieutenant would probably have to shove him out of the way first if he wanted to get past him.

Which the auburn-haired fighter actually seemed to be contemplating, given how his eyes were darting everywhere.

Bitters raised his hands quickly, “I don’t want to yell this time, Matthews.”

“A—are you sure?” His teammate sounded nervous and tearful again, but there was definitely a trace of anger still in his voice just as there had been before, “Because you never finished it the last time.”

Yeah, when Matthews had run off practically crying and Doctor Grey had all but threatened to castrate Bitters with a shot if he didn’t stop interrupting the healing process for everyone else at the clinic with his constant anger issues.

He grimaced slightly, “I didn’t mean to—“

“To what, Bitters?” Matthews seemed to be getting angrier as the seconds flew by, remembering apparently exactly how the argument had played out, “Call me a stupid kiss-ass again?  Threaten to tie me to a bed?”

Bitters winced at the reminder of that last one in particular.  Yeah, Matthews probably had more than enough right to be pissed off with him at the moment.

But, fuck it!  He had been angry back then too!

“I wasn’t thinking straight and I’m sorry.” Bitters shot back quickly, “But, you weren’t really any better either if you thought going on that crazy mission was a good idea.”

“Why?” In the heat of the moment, Matthews took a step forward, glaring at him from behind his glasses, “Kaikaina and Volleyball went and things were fine.”

“Yeah, but they _fucking_ could have not been just as easily.” Bitters countered, surprised at how calm his voice sounded this time around, “Plus, _neither_ of them had been put on restricted activity by Doctor Grey due to injury!”

Bitters made a mental note to himself that if he probably had gone with this angle to begin with earlier, then they could have not experienced the last couple of days of uncomfortable avoidance entirely.

Matthews seemed to deflate slightly at the intense, albeit _much_ more rational argument Bitters was throwing his way this time, “B—but—”

“Matthews.” Bitters stepped closer then, causing the other lieutenant to blink rapidly at the sudden realization of their proximity to one another.

When the glasses-wearing rookie stepped back, he walked right into the crate he had been organizing moments earlier.  His hands had gone up in front of him again, and Matthews was in process of playing with his fingers like he always did when he was nervous.  If there had been space to do so, Bitters was fairly certain he would have started pacing too.

Bitters frowned, reaching out and grabbing Matthews’ hands with his own.  The action immediately caused the auburn-haired young man to go rigid.  Matthews’ wide eyes looked into his own, and Bitters gave the hands in his a reassuring squeeze.

“Believe me, I was pissed off at _all_ of our dumbass friends for going.” He continued, “But, _you_ were the dumbass who got injured hauling _my_ even more dumbass self to safety earlier.”

Matthews was staring at their hands now, frowning himself as he processed what Bitters had just said and tried coming up with something to respond with.

“I…” He started stuttering, “T—that’s because…”

“We’re teammates, I know.” Bitters cut him off, knowing that if he didn’t they would be here forever, “But, if you got even more injured following that?  Or worse…”

He trailed off, really unsure of whether or not it would be a good idea to continue in that vein.  He dropped Matthews’ hands and they fell limply to the other’s sides then, the young man looking at him with an utterly lost expression on his face.

“I don’t—”

That’s when Bitters remembered how much of an idiot Matthews could be when it came to reading _whatever_ this was between them.  Given how everything could possibly play out soon, Bitters decided to just mentally say “ _fuck it!_ ” and go for it.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He let out in a quick, sincere breath.  Before Matthews could respond, Bitters had reached out and pulled the surprised lieutenant into a tight embrace, his mouth pressing against his desperately.

Matthews’ arms were pressed into his sides, and he didn’t respond to the kiss at all beyond his eyes going impossibly larger than they’d already been before.

Bitters pulled away reluctantly a few seconds later, gripping Matthews’ shoulders and watching his entire face heat up red starting from the neck.

“S—sorry for that too, I guess.” He murmured as Matthews continued staring at nothing in particular, feeling very guilty that he’d done that at all and probably fucked things up with his friend as a result.

His voice caused Matthews to blink, and his teammate looked over at the brown-haired man still lightly holding onto his shoulders questioningly as his gaze darted from some of the colorful strands of dyed hair resting on top of Bitters’ head still back to his eyes when he gained the nerve to do so.

“It was…nerves.  Or something,” Bitters tried to explain weakly, hoping just to not get his teammate upset with him again for what he had done, “So we can ig—“

Now it was his turn to get cut off in mid-sentence, because Matthews was _hugging_ him and, red-faced and shaking from nerves as much as he was, Bitters was surprised when the timid kiss-ass darted his head forward to quickly peck his cheek with his lips.

“P—probably nerves too, I—I think.” The auburn-haired lieutenant joked awkwardly as he began pulling away.

It took Bitters only a second to process what had happened.  Then he was grinning and grabbing Matthews again, holding on like the other young man was a fucking lifeline.  He locked his lips onto Matthews’ again with a need he had only just started becoming more fully aware of for the other lieutenant just a short while ago.

This time, Matthews was responding.  A bit unsure and awkwardly, but just as eager and desperate as Bitters was.

When Bitters asked for entrance with his tongue to deepen the kiss, he was readily admitted.  Bitters was pretty sure at some point that he had lost all track of time, and he honestly couldn’t have cared less.

When they finally pulled away again, Bitters looked down at the out-of-breath Matthews and smiled, playing with the other’s fingers absent-mindedly as he had wanted to do that for so long, ever since he’d first started noticing that nervous habit of his roommate’s, “Wanna…go continue this elsewhere?”

Matthews, contended looking but red-faced still, took a few seconds to catch on to what Bitters was asking, “Um, Kaikaina and Volleyball claimed dibs on the sleeping area earlier.”

Judging by how much redder the other lieutenant got at that and his sudden fidgeting, Bitters could guess as to what they were doing in there.  He wasn’t about to unintentionally interrupt _another_ intimate moment of someone else’s.

Bitters sighed, frustrated because he knew knowing the way his luck was that one of their friends would probably be walking by at any second and, in that case, Matthews would then knock him over to bolt.

Although _why_ had he even fucking thought about that in the first place when all he wanted at this moment was to keep kissing Matthews and _never_ fucking let go of his hand again?

“T—there’s a storage closet for equipment not too far away from here.” Matthews suggested awkwardly, the blush nearly turning purple on his skin now, “I—I was going to check it out next for inventory.”

“Suck up.” The term was said fondly this time though, as Bitters absently tucked a strand of loose hair behind Matthews’ ear.

Actually, doing any inventory was the farthest thing from either of their minds when they reached the spot.

Fuck, in fact they actually knocked quite a few things down from the shelves and, for once, Matthews was in no hurry to tidy up.  Bitters didn’t even complain when one of the spare helmets crashed down onto his head.

He gripped Matthews’ hand again, kissing his jaw and relishing the feeling of Matthews’ other hand at the back of his head, soothingly rubbing the bump forming there from the fallen helmet.

Right now, _all_ that fucking mattered to Bitters was that they were together.  Everything else could _fucking wait_ just a bit longer.

*****

The night air was colder than Richard “Dick” Simmons had expected it to be, and he wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to shield his body.  Which, admittedly, wasn’t the best idea considering that one of his arms was more metal than muscle _and_ always at a slightly lower body temperature as a result.  But, instincts were what they were regardless of fact.

The bag full of food that he had gotten for Grif’s dinner was constantly slinging against his side as he walked.  The cyborg would have to lower his arms to halt the rather annoying repetition, which his body really was reluctant to do all the same as his brain kept screaming at him about how chilly it was.

He sighed as he neared his family’s home.  The Above Grounder’s mind went reeling back to the meeting he had just had at Carolina’s safe house, which was actually the main reason behind the current bile building-up in his throat.

By “meeting,” Simmons really meant “ _standing there trying to get a stammering word in while Church shouted expletives and Carolina cleaned weaponry oh-so-subtly in the background in a way that really wasn’t threatening at all.  Nope!_ ”

Church didn’t get the idea behind give-and-take situations and team meetings all that well.  The second that the cyborg had entered the premises, the ghost-turned-A.I. had informed him without preamble that the time table for the Resistance’s battle over the relic at Sidewinder was definitely set now.  That Sheila and Doc had already been sent to their base of operations because things here in the city were getting far too risky for all of them to stick around after the shit they had pulled.

Church went on to say that even if Grif _wasn’t_ in the best condition yet, they should both leave as well.  The sooner, the better.  No bitching or arguments.

From the sound of things with the finality in his leader’s voice, as well as the even more guarded look in Carolina’s green eyes whenever Simmons _did_ gather up the nerve to look her way during Church’s rant, he had a feeling that neither of them would be coming along.

As much as Simmons would have wanted to argue about all of that for a variety of reasons that he thought were perfectly fucking sensible, he knew it would be a waste of time and he really wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the robot equivalent of a blood vessel bursting if he attempted it.

The redhead wasn’t even going to try to imagine what Carolina would have done had he tried arguing.  Though he figured it would have likely involved ripping his cybernetic arm off and beating him over the head with it until he saw their reasoning, which would also be pretty unpleasant.

Carolina had set up the safe house’s terminals to activate if anything remotely interesting or different in routine programming occurred, just to keep a close eye on all information channels they had access to so they all saw the news announcement from Hargrove that came on at the near end of Church’s tirade.

It pretty much confirmed that they were running out of time to stop whatever plans he had involving the relic.  His takeover of The Council hadn’t helped buy them much in that regard.

In fact, that had pretty much been the big cincher that, in Church’s mind, pretty much proved his point for him.  He looked over at Simmons with a smirk on his goateed face after the press conference, just daring him to try to counter his order too much following it considering what the speech obviously represented.

So now, Simmons was on his way back to his own house while thinking about all sorts of things and trying desperately not to puke or hyperventilate in the process.

The redhead figured he would have to try to play it off like it was nothing tonight though.  Getting Grif upset wasn’t going to do anything but make things that much worse.  Especially since Simmons still had to convince the dumbass he needed to take a fucking shower and let him help with the bandaging afterwards now that he knew neither Doc or Sheila were anywhere around.

He could bring up what Church had said tomorrow, while figuring out the best possible arrangements for heading out to the Resistance without doing too much damage to Grif’s healing injuries in the process.

Pushy asshole that he was, Church had said that both he and Carolina would help as they could on that front.  Though Simmons had a feeling it was said more to just get him to agree to go in the first place as soon as possible without too much protest.

Easing into it was the best approach, most likely.  At least looking at it from what would be best for Grif’s health.

By the time Simmons opened the front door, he had almost convinced himself that things would be fine, or at least as close to fine as they could get given how generally sucky this whole situation was.  He at least had convinced himself enough so that he could hopefully hide his worry from Grif for the moment.

But that was before he stepped inside and absentmindedly brought the lights on with a waving hand motion by the panel near the entrance to the house, finding the chubby Slums dweller in question standing shakily by the bottom of the stairs.  The tan-skinned man’s eyes were wide while his face had taken on a disturbingly purple hue.

Grif was gasping heavily, as if he was struggling to get air into his lungs, no doubt why his face had changed to that color.  There were very noticeable red splotches seeping through several of the bandages covering his body.

 _Any_ planning Simmons had tried orchestrating in his head minutes before fell by the wayside at the sight, as did the bag full of food that slid down his suddenly limp arm and crashed onto the floor as the door closed behind him.

“G—Grif?”

The Above Grounder wasn’t sure what had happened since he had left.

Grif recently started moving around more once he had begun feeling slightly better, but this was by far the farthest he had ever moved.  The Resistance fighter hadn’t even been downstairs since they had brought him here until this moment.  It looked as if the movement had definitely taken a toll on him.

His body language in general was just off too.  Something about it was way too familiar to Simmons, even if he couldn’t entirely place why.  It was sending alarm bells through the cyborg’s head.

Simmons didn’t even want to dwell on the blood.  Or the fact that it really seemed like it was near impossible for Grif to get any air into his lungs.  Or that he just looked _terrified_ at the moment.

The Above Grounder’s own anxiety suddenly increased about twenty times what it had been before, and his stomach lurched.  Any second now, the cyborg was fairly certain he’d feel like he couldn’t breathe either, even if he didn’t have lungs to begin with anymore.

Trying _not_ to get too caught up in his growing urge to panic, the cyborg reached out to steady Grif since the other man seemed to not be too steady on his feet at the moment, stepping back slightly when Grif shied away from his outstretched hands as if his touch would burn him.

It was as if he hadn’t really seen Simmons at all up until just then, and the sudden proximity had startled him even more.

“It’s…happening soon, isn’t it?” Grif wheezed out with quite a bit of visible effort, and Simmons winced at how shallow his breathing was.

The Above Grounder blinked, not quite understanding the question since he was still trying to avoid freaking out over this whole situation himself, “Wha—?“

“D—don’t play dumb, Simmons!” It was more of a strained plea than an actual shout, and Grif winced as if in pain, “You left your fucking terminal on.”

If Simmons actually still had lungs, he had a feeling this would be the time when his own breathing would have turned shallow as a sinking realization overcame him just then.

_Oh, shit.  Hargrove’s news broadcast._

He’d been out of sorts when he had left earlier that day.  Nearly blurting out that he had thought Grif was attractive and then getting into the very heavy topic of _asshole father_ was a surefire way for that to happen.

The redhead had turned on the terminal in his room before he had left just to check something really quick, and hadn’t remembered to turn it off because by then he had been late for the meeting time that Carolina had insisted on before and…yeah, he hadn’t wanted to be late for a lot of fairly obvious reasons.

Simmons’ blood ran cold at the pained look still on Grif’s features as he waited for an answer to his earlier question, and he nodded mutely in reply as his voice suddenly stuck in his throat.

“That means…they’re heading out soon, then.” The Slums dweller stated, and Simmons knew that Grif meant the Resistance given why they had come to Above Ground in the first place.

The cyborg nodded again, wincing slightly himself as Grif roughly dropped onto the bottom of the stairs then.  Evidently, given his current mindset, he was oblivious to the fact that his body still wasn’t in the best condition for that type of sudden movement.

“I’ve just been stuck here.” There was a definite note of pain to Grif’s voice then, as if he could possibly cry but was trying not to.

“That—that couldn’t be helped!” Simmons found his voice then, the distress in the other man’s demeanor enough to push him into action, “You needed to recover!  Everyone was so relieved that the rescue mission succeeded that they just wanted you to rest and—“

“Everyone?” Grif cut off Simmons’ rambling, staring at him incredulously, “You mean it wasn’t just you and your team who pulled me out?”

The redhead paused then, the odd look that was crossing over Grif’s features at this new information making him a little unsure of just how to respond to the question.

Though Grif seemed pretty adept at reading his face for cues all the same.

“So they risked their lives to save _mine_ on top of all of the other dangerous shit we came here to deal with in the first place?” The tan-skinned man seemed immensely upset at the prospect.

“…And Tucker’s son too.” Simmons added in weakly.

“So, Tucker helped too then.  Okay.” Grif nodded slightly, as if counting off in his head, “Who else, Simmons?”

Simmons said nothing, and Grif stood up on wobbly feet once more, taking a step forward, “I bet Donut and C.T. helped too.  Maybe even Sarge just to rub it in my face later.” He started, grimacing the whole while, “And the lieutenants too because they’re all too damn eager for their own good.”

Grif stopped abruptly, just a couple meters away from the Above Grounder now.

“Did Kai come along too?” He asked him, letting out a pained laugh as he did so, “I bet she did.  She’s been stupidly throwing her life away for her worthless big brother for years now.”

“That isn’t—!“

“ _None_ of you should have bothered, Simmons.” Grif cut him off flatly, “Wanting to save Junior I could understand, but I sure as fuck wasn’t worth the effort.  Especially with Hargrove still left to deal with.” He smiled derisively, “If someone had _died_ …if Kai or you had, that would have—“

“If _you_ had died, what would have happened to me or Kai then?” Simmons countered, suddenly feeling angry.

Grif stopped in the middle of his rant then, staring at Simmons as if he had just grown two heads.

“Kai fucking loves you because _you_ were the one who raised her, jackass.” Simons moved forward then, refraining from stabbing a finger into Grif’s shoulder for added emphasis only because the bandages were there and that _red_ was making him want to panic himself.  He needed to be more upset and angry than fearful at the moment, to keep Grif from doing something extremely stupid in the next few minutes, “If _I_ lost you, I would have _nothing_.”

“What?” Grif was completely taken aback by the sudden outburst from Simmons, and what he had just said during it.

At this point, normally Simmons would most likely have completely freaked out over that last part he just admitted to in particular.  It had been way too close to a confession that he had told himself he would never actually say because there was no way it would be reciprocated, but at this point his brain was pretty much saying _fuck it._

“My mother is dead.  My entire career as a soldier is a goddamned lie.  My cybernetics were just really shitty spyware, and my father is a fucking asshole who knew the _entire_ time and didn’t even care.”

“…You never said anything about that later stuff before.” Grif’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke up following the cyborg’s outburst, almost hurt sounding.

His attention was now on Simmons’ cybernetic eye, hands twitching at his sides as if he was tempted to reach out and touch it since Simmons had mentioned the enhancements just then.

“You were injured and I didn’t want to worry you!” Simmons’ voice was shrill at this point, and, damn it, his vision was blurry, “Grif, if I lost you then I…!”

He paused, unable to finish that thought out loud.

If he lost Grif, he would have _nothing_.

Grif was the one bond he had created and decided on for himself, all those years ago.  The person he had ended up falling hard for even if he knew it had been a really pointless and dumb thing to do.

The thought of what would have happened had they not gotten him out of that torture chamber?  Simmons could barely get through the fake motion of breathing his body still did just thinking about it.

That was when he realized why seeing Grif acting that way had upset and freaked him out so much.  He had recognized a panic attack from an outside perspective, and seeing _Grif_ going through it at this instance was causing him to begin going through one himself.

Something akin to understanding flickered in Grif’s brown eyes following Simmons’ outburst, and suddenly he was taking the few steps towards Simmons that remained between them.  The pale man flinched this time, afraid of a punch or shouting or…

The sudden warmth surrounding him as Grif pulled him into an embrace caught him completely off-guard, however, and he stood there dumbly for a minute before what was happening began to register in his mind.

“G—Grif?” Simmons choked again, cursing himself for it as he wrapped his arms around Grif tightly all the same and buried his head in Grif’s neck.

Grif’s hug tightened at the contact despite the discomfort he was most likely in, and Simmons started slightly a second later when he felt the Slums dweller moving his hands to trace circles on Simmons’ back.

It was the same type of comforting gesture he remembered using himself to reassure Grif in the past, and the cyborg shuddered slightly at the contact while resisting the urge to cry that suddenly welled up in him.

“Simmons.  Sorry, sorry.” Grif was practically murmuring in his ear due to their close proximity, breath warm and tingling against the shell, “It’s all right.”

“Grif, I—“

Simmons felt something wet on his shirt and frowned, cutting off what he was about to say and reluctantly pulling away from the embrace and the reassuring warmth of Grif’s fingers moving over his back to observe that one of the larger cuts on Grif’s chest had now definitely reopened.  The blood was spilling from the injury enough now to have begun dripping out of the thick bandage that was wrapped around it.

As important as this conversation was, and Simmons knew he still had one thing he needed to say in particular to Grif before all was said and done, the sight of the bleeding had him shifting his priorities once again.

“Right now, Grif, we need to get you cleaned up.”

*****

Simmons’ emotional outburst had certainly helped to pull Grif back from the ledge he had been on since waking up to that fucking asshole Hargrove talking about the “ _anniversary surprise_ ” he was planning.

Though, in its wake, there were now a whole lot of other things for his brain to contend with.

One of the largest ones that kept flaring to life in the back of his skull with all of the subtlety of that horrible light sign over the “Randy Offering” back in the Slums was that he was fairly fucking sure that, even if Simmons hadn’t managed to actually say anything along those lines just then, he cared more for Grif than just as a friend.

In hindsight, there had probably been some pretty massive clues to that which Grif just hadn’t picked up on, especially if what his friends and Kai always said were remotely true.  Kai had always said that she thought his obliviousness in that department was especially hilarious.

Given his own reaction to that personal realization, Grif was pretty damn sure he felt the same for the nerd.  Fuck it!  He probably had for a really long while now, if he was being completely honest with himself.

Really, the sex dreams he’d started having involving the redhead a few years ago _maybe_ should have been a big tipoff.

But, he’d tried his hardest to just not think too deeply on it given the general suckiness of everything.  Besides, the situation between the Slums and Above Ground kind of made it hard to imagine that even being a remote possibility.

Long distance relationships were a pain in the ass, even if the two of them did somehow always manage to coincidentally bump into each other at the weirdest fucking times.  Add to that a war involving a guy trying to wipe out everyone who lived in his home and, yeah, that certainly made things trickier.

But, even with that dawning crystallization looming over Grif, there were so many other things going on too coming into play as well.  The aforementioned war and genocidal dick also being top priorities, as well as his friends and family being way too big of risk takers to continue staying healthy and alive.

He supposed Simmons’ immediate concern over him bleeding all over the carpet was also pretty valid given the context of their talk just now.

Light-headed and filled to the brim with all sorts of really heady and barely processed emotions and troubling thoughts, as well as more than just a little woozy from the sudden exertion and just starting to get back into a proper breathing routine to boot, he didn’t fight when Simmons gripped one of his hands in his and led him gently back up the stairs.

Grif wasn’t even too aware of a lot of the things that happened afterwards.  Simmons wordlessly helped him remove the bandages once he realized the Slums dweller wasn’t going to argue about it with him.

He heard the maroon soldier let out a sharp intake of breath when he saw the aggravated condition a lot of Grif’s cuts were in now.

Many of the wounds had started to reopen due to the sudden and very jerky moves that the Resistance fighter had made when in his “flight” mode and running down the stairs.  He had been trying to avoid moving too quickly because Doc had warned him specifically that could potentially happen, but that concern had completely slipped his mind in the heat of the moment.  He hadn’t even really felt any pain just then.

No, the “burning” in his lungs and the deep-seated fear that overcame him whenever he felt that way tended to, oddly enough, shut most other types of discomfort out.  He hated the nightmares he had now since so often they brought him back to that mindset as well, but he supposed it was a twisted sort of natural pain killer that way.  Though Grif, having experienced it more than enough already even before this whole torture incident, would definitely have preferred any other alternative to it.

Simmons seemed to sense that now was probably not the best time to chide Grif over having inadvertently done that to his body while it was still in the process of healing, probably because he had been more than just a tad freaked out himself over the condition he had found the tan man in when he had walked through the door from whatever errand he had been gone on.

Though the twisting look crossing over the redhead’s features, as if he was just barely keeping himself from crying, made Grif feel like an ass anyways.

The Above Grounder mumbled something about getting the bandages and medicine ready with an _“I—I’ll be right outside until you need me.”_ mumbled under his breath as he exited because Grif still insisted on showering by himself at least.

The Slums dweller knew he had to concede on the bandage part, even if he dreaded it.  There was no fucking way that Simmons was going to even let him half-ass that given what he had seen of Grif’s condition just then.

The water stung horribly the second it hit his skin and the medicated wash, for all of Doc’s talk on it being “ _soothing_ ,” really wasn’t any better.  Grif was wincing and cursing under his breath the entire time, hoping Simmons didn’t pick up on it with whatever extra-sensitive cybernetic hearing he had now.

Considering how worried he had made Simmons in the last few minutes alone, not even taking into account everything the nerd, Kai, and the others had risked to get Grif here regardless of how insanely stupid that whole thing was?  Well, he really didn’t want to stress the redhead out anymore at this point.

Sometimes there were instances where it just wasn’t good to be an ass.  In his opinion, they didn’t come too often, but he felt like now was definitely one of them.

The blood was running down his body in rivulets that made the entire floor beneath him red.  He gritted his teeth and avoided looking down as he finished up.

Definitely not a good idea to make yourself even more light-headed and woozy when in the shower, and he could nearly fake his brain into assuming that the unsettling imagery of flashes of red he saw was more because of the water diluting everything rather than having to look at the more visible and reopened cuts on his flesh.

The second he had turned the water off, Simmons was there again with fresh dressing and bandages.  Judging by the anxious look in his eyes, the other man had no doubt been waiting impatiently by the door just in case Grif had passed out or something in there.

That only partially made Grif feel somewhat annoyed.  He _could_ take care of himself, after all, even if he might bitch about having to do work and right now he actually didn’t feel too great.  But, mostly it made him feel…well, he wasn’t sure what.

A very large portion of the Slums dweller actually felt rather touched by the concern, and he was really hoping that didn’t show on his face or anything too obviously since the whole thing between them was sort of very awkward right now.

Simmons helped him redress and bandage his body, in particular his back and lower legs so that he wouldn’t have to bend too much and potentially aggravate the wounds anymore.  The medicine that was applied at this stage, thankfully, was actually a hell of a lot more tolerable to Grif.  Actually, it felt oddly cool even on the cuts and scrapes that were just now beginning to stop bleeding heavily like they had been doing.

Grif tried really hard _not_ to feel self-conscious about the way his body looked throughout the whole thing, or how Simmons’ fingers gliding over it produced a tingling sensation that neither Doc’s nor Sheila’s ever had.

Fuck.  Even with the fact that the salve was pretty damn cold when it made contact with skin, or that he always remembered Simmons’ artificial hand feeling noticeably colder than his organic one, for some reason both felt oddly hot in this instance and Grif did his best to try not really focusing on that either.

Simmons, for his part, also seemed to be trying desperately to just focus on the task at hand.  More than likely still freaking out over what had happened himself and perhaps not thinking this exact moment was the best time to really be dwelling on it overly much.

But, there was a very noticeable tinge of pink on his face right up to the plating.  Whenever Grif risked looking at his eyes for a split second before he lost his nerve, Simmons would quickly do the same, finding whatever bandage he was holding at that moment insanely fascinating.

Apparently, after several tense minutes of awkward silence, the redhead had decided it might be best to start up some kind of dialogue again.  When he finally spoke after what appeared to be an intense inner-debate, his voice was still at its higher decibel that indicated he was pretty nervous.  But, it seemed as if, by the almost conversational tone he was going for, the cyborg was attempting to be casual to help put both himself and Grif at ease.

“You—you freaked me out back there.” Simmons finally said, only slightly haltingly, “I’ve never seen you _that_ panicked before, except maybe the…one time.”

Grif didn’t have to be a genius to know from the way Simmons’ head dropped slightly and the wince that crossed his features that he was referring to the hostage situation from awhile ago.  Grif had nearly passed out from being unable to breathe back then too.  He even remembered a guilt-ridden Simmons trying to comfort him then as well.

Yeah, in hindsight, _so many things_ should have been obvious to him a lot earlier than now.

Focusing on going for that same level of forced casual that Simmons was attempting with mixed success, Grif shrugged nonchalantly and only slightly frowned at the pain in the back of his right shoulder in particular that motion caused.  Probably reopened a wound there, he would wager.  It had been one of the first places the asshole Felix-wannabe had stabbed and dragged the knife through.  He’d been with it a lot more in the beginning portion of that whole session, so he remembered it pretty well.

“It happens occasionally.” He finally informed the cyborg, “Ever since the Level One incident.”

“Oh.” Simmons was moving to his torso, and a frown was on his face as if he was contemplating just how to respond to that.

Grif knew how inquisitive the Above Grounder was, but how he was probably afraid to mention anything too upsetting or painful for someone as well.  No doubt those two sides of him were having a very heady debate currently as to how to approach the conversation from there.

The Slums dweller took pity on him and further elaborated, “Still can’t do heights at all.”

Simmons stilled completely at the remark, perhaps not quite sure how to take it since Grif had said it so indifferently.  It was old news to him by now, really.  Yeah, it actually did suck in a lot of ways and he wasn’t too proud of it, but he’d learned to accept it all the same.

A look of recognition crossed over the cyborg’s face and he frowned, “So, that time when I mentioned going up to the rafters…?”

“Well, you _were_ drunk so it wasn’t a good idea to begin with.” Grif joked slightly, though his expression became serious in the next moment as his eyes took on a faraway look, “But, yeah, that was a big part of it too.”

“It had been your favorite spot.” Simmons recalled, nostalgic and sad all at once.

“The best napping spot in the whole Slums.” He nodded his head at the recollection, smiling wistfully, “I tried going up there once.  After.” The Resistance fighter confessed, “Nearly passed out on the ladder.”

“You didn’t say anything.” Simmons sounded hurt, and Grif couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about that despite the very big reveals Simmons had inadvertently only just recently told him too.

He smiled slightly in apology and in something of a self-deprecating way, “Actually, I hadn’t told anyone about it.  _Until now_.” He caught Simmons’ eyes to make sure his meaning was understood, “I didn’t want to worry them about stuff that couldn’t be changed.”

All too well, he definitely understood Simmons’ reasoning from earlier too.

Simmons contemplated that for a moment and, for a second, Grif wondered if he would have to elaborate further.  He hoped not.  Talking about that kind of stuff was way too fucking awkward.

Then the redhead gave a slight nod as if understanding everything that Grif had spoken out loud and what he hadn’t as well, a fleeting awkward smile curving his lips upward too before he looked away.

Perhaps the Above Grounder wasn’t sure how to process all of that just yet, as the conversation died down completely for awhile.  Given how heavy it had become, Grif was slightly relieved for the reprieve.

Simmons continued with the bandaging, and Grif was starting to feel drowsy again.  He had been moving quite a bit, and mostly on an adrenaline rush that had pretty much fled his system by this point, so it was pretty understandable that his body was slowing down.  Still, there was a definite twisting in his stomach he doubted would go away anytime remotely soon.

“Simmons?” He finally got up the nerve to ask, as the cyborg was in the process of finishing up with his lower back.

Simmons must have been lost in his own thoughts at that point due to the silence that had settled around them, because he gave a slight start and his skin turned a slight shade of red in reaction, “Y—yeah, Grif?”

“Can I go to where the others are tomorrow?” Grif closed his eyes, not sure if really wanted to see Simmons’ reaction to his question, “I know I am in a crappy condition still but, fuck it!  I _want_ to be there.”

For all intents and purposes, this was going to be the final battle.  It was certainly the one that would decide whether everyone still in the Slums would be alive or dead.  Who knew how many of his friends and comrades would even still be standing afterwards?

Grif didn’t want to get killed or anything, and in any other instance he would sure as fuck welcome the chance to sit out the kind of firefight this would detail.  But, if Kai and Tucker and everyone else were willing to potentially go to their deaths to prevent something beyond messed up from happening, he was going to be there too.

For a long while, Simmons was silent and Grif was bracing himself for an argument.

“Sure.” The redhead said at length, after what seemed like a very long inner debate with himself that Grif only caught the flickering last seconds of as he sneaked a peak at the other man finally to gauge his reaction, “But, I’m going too.”

That was unexpected, and Grif wasn’t sure what he was feeling in reaction to the cyborg’s statement.  Simmons could potentially have a life here still, regardless of the outcome for the Resistance.  At least, if he didn’t get caught up in their shit again, or if he didn’t get killed trying to look out for the Slums dweller after already doing way too much for him already.

Grif turned fully to face the Above Grounder then, for some reason alarmed at the notion of Simmons going even though he was apparently more than willing to throw his own injured ass into the fray, “You don’t—!“

A green eye, along with a red-tinted one, leveled him with a stare that clearly gave no room for argument, “There’s no way someone can knowingly standby in this situation.” Simmons stated, his tone holding the same level of finality as his expression did, “Besides, I already told you.  I am _not_ going to lose you too, fat-ass.”

Grif wanted to argue, but already knew it would be a wasted effort.  Besides, seeing Simmons become adamant and stubborn always caused him to regard his friend impressively.  He couldn’t keep that familiar fondness from welling up within him again.

“Nerd.” He smiled as he said it, as strange a term of endearment as Simmons calling him “ _fat-ass_ ” just then had been.  But, for them, both terms were quite affectionate all the same.

Simmons smiled back.

There were definitely a lot of things that were being left hanging unspoken between the two of them, but that would do for right now.

If they survived, well, there was a lot that they would have to discuss properly.

With minimal help from Simmons since, _if_ he was going to be moving out tomorrow like he planned, Grif had to prove he could do at least this much on his own, the Resistance fighter settled onto the pastel-sheeted bed once more.

Simmons held back, suddenly seemingly quite nervous again now that his immediate concern over Grif’s wounds had been taken care of.

Grif supposed that Simmons was just now starting to process how many heavy reveals had happened in such a short amount of time.  Knowing the redhead, Simmons was freaking out about how that might change everything because he was his own worst enemy when it came to that sort of thing.

The Slums dweller patted the mattress next to him, scooting over slightly and doing a damn good job ignoring the pain that movement caused in the process, grinning like he had when the two had first met and there hadn’t always been some horribly dire threat looming over their heads, “Want to nap in the meantime?”

Simmons’ eyes widened momentarily.  His very enthusiastic, albeit shy, nod afterwards caused both men’s faces to inadvertently color a bit given the most recent shift in their dynamic.  Perhaps not so much a shift as something they just were now a lot more conscious and aware of.

He settled in next to Grif without hesitation though.  Grif closed his eyes, not quite sure how he felt both _more_ energized and relaxed all at the same time.

Simmons’ body was warm, and the Above Grounder seemed even more awkward and self-conscious lying there.  He never was one who got used to quick impromptu napping, the Resistance fighter remembered.

Still, Grif couldn’t help but lean into him more.  It was only a few seconds later, as he was drifting to sleep, that he felt Simmons’ organic arm pull him in closer.  The tan man turned slightly, so that his own arm was draped over the other’s side as well.

Even if the motion hurt a little bit, it was totally fucking worth it.

Grif was pretty sure it was the best nap he had had in a long while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Some actual developments in the romance department this time around! :D I apologize, as always, for however strange that may have gotten. I need some more practice writing straight-up romance, I think. XD I may have even alluded to a Freelancer pairing in there!
> 
> There were a whole bunch of character interactions this time around involving angst and ice cream parties (the best combination! XD), and some pretty significant moments to be had for a lot of the characters. Whether or not some of them are completely aware of it yet remains to be seen though. :)
> 
> At this point in the story, the endgame is in sight (just a few more chapters to go, I think!). So, I hope you will stick with me for the rest of the ride!
> 
> Though this probably won’t be the last time you’ll see me: I have a whole bunch of plot bunnies for RvB stories in my head, such as several oneshots and shorter fics…and even a lengthier multi-chapter tale that I have been brainstorming a bit now, so I might even be posting the first chapter or more of that one along with the final ones to Above Ground just to get it started. In other words, I will probably be annoying everyone with story updates for quite some time yet! :D
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. :D I hope this longer chapter was well worth the wait despite some of the awkwardness in sections at times. :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter Twenty-Five:

The snow crunched loudly underfoot. That sound, combined with the visual white harshness of the expanse they found themselves on currently, helped register the first cognitive thought that lodged itself in Dexter Grif’s mind upon their arrival there.

_This Sidewinder place is fucking cold._

The thought had refused to vacate the Slums dweller’s brain. He could easily imagine the chill that no doubt permeated the area even through the impressive climate controls of his armor, something that he was quite thankful for currently.

Sidewinder was both impressive and terrifying all at once. Impressive because the weather and temperatures that kept the mountain range way past just simply “chilly” were such a completely foreign concept to someone who had lived underground for practically their entire life, and terrifying for the same reason too.

Grif breathed in and out, trying to calm his nerves. Instead, he had to bite down on a hiss of pain from breathing in too deeply with his still very much recuperating body.

The flap of the tent that had been set up as a temporary reprieve from the cold while everyone was in the final stages of prepping was pushed to the side behind him. The orange-armored fighter was surprised when he turned around to see Kai standing there awkwardly.

“Hey, Kai.”

The dark-haired man somehow managed to not grimace in pain. Or, at the very least, he had thought that maybe, _just maybe_ he had kept it from carrying in his voice. They were wearing helmets, after all.

The siblings hadn’t really spoken at all since Grif and Simmons had managed to hobble their way to the Resistance’s secret hideout.

Of course, there had been reunions with his friends and comrades in the Resistance happy to see him back.

_The memory of getting to see Junior again safe and sound, combined with having Tucker call him a fat-ass for making everyone worry and informing everyone of how Grif would definitely be making it up to all of them later with free booze replayed in his head._

_Matthews and Donut had both being crying messes, while Lopez muttered something he was pretty sure was sarcastic in Spanish in the background. Hard to tell, really. Most things the robot said sounded pretty sarcastic though, so it seemed like a pretty good guess._

_Bitters remarked that he guessed he was thankful to see Grif back, just like Matthews obviously was. Of course, the lieutenant had to ruin the moment by remarking that there wouldn’t even be the need for a reunion if a captain of all people hadn’t done something incredibly stupid in the first place. That of course led to the other newer recruits, and Caboose, all wanting Grif to know their part in the very moronic rescue plan they had all concocted and taken part in on his behalf._

_Then Kimball, along with C.T. and the other former Freelancers, stated that it was good to see him again. Though Grif suspected with Tex her happiness regarding his return was more because he always still jumped whenever she suddenly appeared nearby, as that still seemed to amuse her to no end._

_Even Sarge had noted that not having the Grif around had been somewhat demotivating because the older soldier had to focus all of his pent-up aggression on non-present enemies. So, he ultimately supposed that the dirtbag was_ good-fer-something _after all. Donut asked if he was tearing up at around that point, and Sarge had to excuse himself to shoot something else that was orange in order compensate for his sudden rush of feelings._

_But, the reunion with his sister had been oddly quiet then. Especially for the two of them._

_Kai had simply walked up to her older brother and called him an idiot. Then, she hugged him before doing the same to a beyond shocked and flustered Simmons, walking away with Volleyball tagging along close by her side a second later without saying anything more to Grif._

_Even Tucker had been shocked by the lack of an explosive outburst, given his past experiences with the Grif siblings, sharing the orange-armored soldier’s look of bewildered shock at the time. In a quieter moment, Tucker later recounted to his childhood friend how he had very nearly feared for his life when Kai had corned him following their rescue plan._

Things had become a whirlwind of activity shortly after that, and there was no time for Grif or any of the others to really process _anything_ before they found themselves at Sidewinder.

He hadn’t seen much of Kai at all up until now, and he’d been under the impression that the girl had been trying to avoid him.

Even with his injuries, he had been given a ton of tasks to do that he had begrudgingly taken on. He _was_ still _Dexter Grif_ after all, no matter what was going on around them that he knew he had to be more proactive about. So, he hadn’t really had too much time to seek anyone out.

Especially since, whenever he had been given a rare moment to himself, he’d been given very strict orders to stay at Doctor Grey’s makeshift clinic. The Slums dweller knew better than to piss her, Kimball, Simmons, Kai, Tucker, or _any_ of his other concerned teammates and comrades (even _Tex_ of all people!) off by ignoring that type of command.

While he had pretty much seen everyone in that short amount of time, even managed to catch a few z’s with Junior which reminded Grif yet again that it was great seeing the kid again, his own sister hadn’t been one of them despite her apparent added vocal insistence that he obey doctor’s orders.

Even on the occasions when he _knew_ she was probably supposed to seek him out for a given assignment or task, Kai somehow always managed to find a way to pass it off to one of the other lieutenants or Palomo instead. All of them seemed to know she was doing it too.

Palomo basically kept saying she had a “bathroom thing,” probably under the assumption that Grif wouldn’t ask more in that case. Which, in fairness, he was right about. Grif didn’t ask for any more details, if only because the tanned man was afraid of finding out just _how much_ elaboration the private might go into in his attempt to make his obvious lie all the more plausible.

Bitters would simply say in his usual maverick way that, if the captain had a question about what Kai was up to, then he needed to take it up with her and not him. The kid had been _pissed_ when they had first met up again, despite how he had tried playing it off as indifference. But, the lieutenant seemed more like his usual agitated-at-everything self once he had realized Grif probably wasn’t going to be keeling over anytime soon. Plus, he had said his piece to the older soldier before when thanking him with Matthews at his side.

Matthews had blubbered to the point where Grif realized there wasn’t even a point in _attempting_ to ask him anything about why he was doing Kai’s tasks for her, and Andersmith just got uncomfortable and said it wasn’t really his place to say.

Jensen simply blurted out that Kai was just processing things in her own way because what had happened had been really difficult for her, a sentiment that Volleyball more calmly echoed. Both girls were apologetic to him, but stated that they couldn’t say more than that.

He had tried not dwelling on it too much, figuring that maybe his sister’s girlfriend’s advice to just give Kai some space was right in this bizarre incidence. Grif tried keeping his concerns to himself by not even telling Simmons or Tucker about what was going on, though he could tell both of them knew it due to the comforting pats or looks they would often send his way.

He had to admit, his younger sister’s timing always was a bit suspect. Picking _just_ before a major offensive to get things out in the open was rather like her.

“Hey.” She fidgeted slightly on the balls of her feet like she used to do when they were kids and she had been afraid to bring something up, like what had _really_ happened with their mom. She stopped doing that entirely when she came up with the circus story later to tell people.

Kai had her dark-haired head tilted slightly to the side, both regarding him and apparently debating something to herself at the same time.

With a quick motion, she unsealed her helmet and tucked it under one arm. Her face instantly took on a slightly reddish hue due to the cold.

Grif started, “Kai, what the fuck? Put that back on! It’s fucking _freezing_ out here!”

“Not inside the tent, dumbass!” She shot back quickly, reminding him of her earlier defiant self while glaring slightly, “If we’re going to have this talk, I want to have it face-to-face.”

Grif sighed, not really thrilled at the notion of exposing himself to cold-as-fuck temperatures but figuring it was better to humor his sister this time instead of getting into an argument.

He unsealed his helmet as well, wincing at the blast of cold air that hit his face as he did so. But, Kai was right. The insulation of the tent definitely made things more tolerable than if they had been standing directly out in the cold.

“So, why exactly are we doing this face-to-face?” The Slums dweller frowned, waiting for her to respond, “Kai, if you’re going to punch me for making you worry or some shit, just try not to hit a cut.”

She was scrutinizing his face closely, and from the look in her brown eyes just then Grif was fairly certain she was debating doing just that.

His suspicion was confirmed a second later when she scoffed, “There aren’t a lot of places I can hit then.”

It was a sort-of joke, but not one all at the same time.

Grif decided just to treat it as one outright since they couldn’t really even get into the other side with how things were now and how heavy that would get. Their family wasn’t the best when it came to discussing “feelings” of any sort too deeply, after all.

“Definitely not.” He agreed, smiling self-deprecatingly.

The chill wasn’t really helping his wounds any if the stinging that was starting up on his face was any indication, but he did his best to ignore it.

She scrunched her face even more, “You’re a fucking moron. You know that?”

“I am pretty sure it takes one to know one, Kai.” Grif remarked back with his pseudo-sage voice, nonplussed at the insult.

They were both staring at the other in silence for a long moment, the looks flitting across their features a combination of relief and anger that was practically mirrored in the other’s expression.

“You had me fucking worried, Dex.” Kai let out first with a shaky breath, looking as if she was fighting back tears while at the same time scolding him, “Who told you to always play the fucking hero?”

“I try not to, in most cases. You know that.” He shrugged, “Guess I wanted to just try something different for once.”

The older brother recalled talking to some of the others before about why Kai had decided to join the Resistance in the first place, specifically remembering a discussion once with Simmons’ in which the Above Grounder stated that, to Kai at least, Grif probably _was_ something of a hero figure in a lot of ways given that he had raised her when their parents bailed and everything. He knew it was probably at least partially true even if Grif sure as fuck didn’t feel that way about himself, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that she potentially viewed him that way if it meant she was going to put herself in harm’s way just to follow in his less-than-ideal footsteps.

Kai looked as if she wanted to argue with his comment, so the Resistance fighter cut her off because that would probably definitely put them in the _way-too-deep-and-probably-time-consuming-if-we-wanted-to-have-a-debate-on-it_ side of the conversation spectrum.

“It kind of sucked, honestly.” Grif joked instead.

She sniffled, glancing at his visible injuries once more, “Looks like it.” Kai looked hesitant before adding, “Do…do they hurt?”

“Not as much as they used to.” He was feeling a bit awkward with this whole topic himself, and felt he might as well get another awkward moment out of the way too while rubbing the back of his head in an oddly hesitant and out-of-character fashion, “Sorry. For the worry.”

“All the talk on how _I_ worried you by joining the party and you pull _that_ shit?” She was smiling slightly, albeit the expression was watery, “You better be sorry! Jackass.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” He shot back, remembering his own source of frustration with the girl he’d learned about recently, “What the fuck were you thinking, helping to steal an air transport _and_ crash it into a fucking base?”

“I wanted to help you and Junior, dumbass!” Kai got into her usual argumentative self at the provocation just then.

It was better to see than her being hesitant and unsure. Grif was glad, even if he still had his own fair share of venting to do as her older sibling.

“Like it would have _really_ helped me hearing that you had gotten yourself killed or something later on.” He shot back at her sarcastically.

“Well, it would have been the same for me!” Kai was quick with her counter.

Just like that, the odd sense of understanding that always seemed to shove its way into their more heated arguments eventually made its presence known.

The two of them were both upset at the idea that they had nearly lost the other one. Venting about it in the aftermath was just their way of coping with shit, after all. Always had been.

Discussing feelings had always been rather interesting in the Grif household. Tucker preferred to call their way of doing so “ _completely batshit nuts_ ”, but he really wasn’t one to talk.

“So, you’re going along with this mission still too then?” Grif asked tiredly, shoulders slumping in defeat and giving in to the inevitability of it all once more.

Both of them were stubborn as fuck too. A Grif sibling fight could last weeks if they both wanted to continue it, but neither of them wanted to do so with this one. He knew that had been the main reason why Kai had avoided coming to him before, and why she had decided to do so now. It was the best way to ensure that they got what they needed to say out in the open, as they didn’t really have the time to let it stew.

What, with this being the last hour or so before a major offensive when who knows what could happen and all. They were pretty much at the point of no going back.

“I’m fucking here, aren’t I?” His little sister stood proudly before shooting him a knowing look, “Besides, you’re here too, aren’t you? You haven’t even recovered!”

Kai had him there.

Truthfully, Grif wasn’t even sure how much help he would even _be_ in a fight given how bad his injuries still were. But, he could still point a gun and shoot as long as he didn’t end up passing out or something. Hopefully that meant he could still do something to help at least.

“The lieutenants are going to be providing cover for the Blue and Red Teams, right?” He asked.

The orange-armored soldier knew that the main attack forces were going to be split into groups in order to cover more ground _and_ hopefully help ensure success in finding the relic.

Kimball and the Freelancers, save Washington who had inexplicably volunteered for the Blue and Red Team assignment and C.T. who was already a member of Blue Team, would be leading a squadron in a direct assault on the facility in an effort to draw attention away from side-attacks by the other fighters.

During that direct assault, the Red Team would be attacking from one side and the Blue Team would attack from the other.

The lieutenants and Palomo would be split amongst the two colored units much as they had been during the initial foray into Above Ground: Kai, Palomo, and Andersmith would be with the Blue Team while Bitters, Matthews, Volleyball, and Jensen would be with Red Team.

Only this time, they also had the members of Simmons’ team to throw into the mix as well, along with the other Above Ground defectors.

Sheila would be on Blue Team, if only because Sarge was convinced that having her present with Lopez was an “ _ill-advised distraction that they could not tactically afford_ ”. Sheila had been amused by the description, Lopez less so. Even without knowing what his electronic Spanish was saying, the robot sounded pretty angry. From a tactical stance it was one of the few times a Sarge decision made sense even if the reasoning did not, since it actually helped balance the playing field by having humanoid robots on both teams.

Doc would be accompanying Red Team in case medical emergencies cropped up despite his less-than-amazing skill record when treating injuries. The hypocrisy in why he could be on Donut’s team, which boiled down to “ _because he technically wasn’t a combatant_ ” apparently did little to improve Lopez’s mood regarding his separation from Sheila.

Though the robot did seem to be mollified when Sarge said he could modify the two to be able to electronically communicate with one another to coordinate potential joint offensives in case things happened during the attack and other lines of communication were cut. Not that Grif thought it would help too much on the Red Team side since no one really understood what Lopez was saying, but he supposed at least it was good that Lopez and Sheila wouldn’t be completely cut off from one another.

Doctor Grey would be going with Blue Team for similar reasoning to Doc’s Red Team assignment. Only they probably lucked out more in that department since she was actually a very good doctor despite her eccentricities.

Four Seven Niner, naturally, had agreed to tag along but _only_ for piloting purposes. She would stay with the transport just in case an emergency occurred. They’d been forced to come here in groups due to limited space, but it had still been better than the alternative of trekking to Sidewinder on foot.

Doyle, who had somehow become appointed Junior’s babysitter in the midst of all of this, would also be staying on the transport. He didn’t appear to be much of a fighter, but he could help with both sensors and communications on the transport. Hopefully, such help from the Above Grounder would enable the transport to hold its position should something happen.

Junior would be with him as a “helper,” though Grif suspected he would actually be more the “protector” of the transport if in fact something did happen. The tiny half-alien could fight with the best of them.

Those three would all be on the transport along with Grif, unfortunately. Which was the part of the plan that sucked, even though he had kind of seen it coming. Given his condition, the Slums dweller had assumed that his actual assistance in the fighting would be minimal despite the fact that he had made it to the hideout earlier with Simmons.

But, still, it was rather _punch-to-the-balls_ level of suck when all of his comrades, friends, and his little sister would be out on the frontlines instead either winning or getting killed first. He wanted to be there too, as crazily dumb and as suicidal a notion as that was.

_Fuck it!_ Not only were Kai, Tucker, and the others going to be out there, but was Simmons too seeing as how the cyborg had volunteered to go with Red Team in Grif’s place.

The two hadn’t even _talked_ about the maroon-armored soldier’s decision yet, and Grif still wasn’t sure how he felt about it to begin with.

Kai nodded in response to his question, and he figured it was best to focus on continuing this current conversation than worry about potential other ones that may or may not even happen.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, saying something to Volleyball then?” Grif sighed, feeling odd bringing up this topic at all with his sister yet thankful beyond belief that this time it wasn’t something along the lines of “ _the talk_ ” again or how he shouldn’t have to explain why it wasn’t the best idea for her to go to orgies, “You know, before…?”

_Before the mission commenced. Before they might not have a “next time” to say things in._

“Oh.” Realization dawned in Kai’s eyes, followed quickly by mirth, “We already did.”

“G—good.” He breathed out slightly, relieved, “That’s good, Kai.”

“Three times.” She grinned and lifted up three fingers for added emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah…” his mind processed what she was really saying just then, “Wait, _wait_?”

“That one time when the hot pilot lady caught us in her chair and said she’d spray us next time doesn’t count though.” Her grin widened, “Even if it _was_ hot.”

“Goddamn it, Kai!” Grif groaned, knowing that now there was no doubt he’d get to hear all about that from Four Seven Niner when the mission was well underway.

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully, “You asked, Dex.”

He wanted to clasp his hand over his eyes to further illustrate his frustration, but was afraid that they would either freeze that way, or that he would touch one of his injuries and set off a wave of pain, “Not about _that_.”

“Aw, you suck!” Kai said it with a pouting, teasing look before an oddly thankful and contemplative one settled over her features, “But, we _did_ talk during those times too. Lots.” She nodded her head to reassure her sibling that she understood what he had really been asking her, “About everything.”

Sometimes, it amazed him how mature Kai could be under it all. He nodded and smiled back at her. He _really_ hoped nothing would happen to her or her girlfriend during the mission, but he didn’t want her to have any regrets either just in case.

Right now, that was about all he could do to look out for her. The orange-armored fighter tried not dwelling on how much that really sucked in general, about how powerless all of them were at this point to do anything _but_ try to keep a power-hungry asshole and his murderous mercenaries from wiping out their homes.

“Speaking of _that_!” The thoughtful look was back on her tanned face now, though it was definitely directed outwards towards him this time around, “Have _you_ talked to Simmons yet?”

The frown that crossed his features answered that question well enough for the younger Grif sibling.

Kai nodded almost sagely, as if she had expected that response from her brother ( _and she probably had, the little brat!_ ), taking up her own impression of his fake wisdom voice just then, “Might want to get on that then.”

He sighed, putting on his helmet once more, “I know.”

The Slums dweller was fairly certain even with his back to her as he exited the tent just then that she was grinning once more, “If you _still_ need pointers for doing more than just talking, then feel free to ask me, Dex!”

“Goddamn it, Kai!”

Grif’s face was red, and not just from the cold. Leave it to his little sister to always end awkward heart-to-hearts on extremely memorable notes.

Truthfully, he wasn’t any _less_ scared shitless or upset about what could potentially happen on this mission after talking with Kai. Still, Grif couldn’t help but smile slightly all the same, even with his little sister’s rather embarrassing closing remark.

If anything, it served as a reminder of how some things never seemed to change.

*****

There were so many ways in which things could go horribly, horribly wrong in the next hour or so.

Literally hundreds, if the teal-armored Resistance fighter stopped to really dwell on it. Seriously. The actual number of horrific possibilities would probably blow someone’s mind.

The most obvious of which being that they were found out before they had gotten to and disabled the stupid alien relic that was the cause of all their current major concerns. The aftermath of that outcome naturally being that they, along with pretty much everyone else, would wind up dead in rather brutal fashions.

Following that unpleasant scenario, the list went on and on with every type of worst case possibility he could think of.

Truthfully? Lavernius Tucker _really_ didn’t want to dwell on that shit right now.

No, instead there were other things he sure as fuck wanted to be doing more. Such as spending as much time with Junior as was humanly possible before the Resistance and their allies embarked on this crazy ass mission.

During a last minute checkup with Doctor Grey, the Blue Team member mentally ran through his last minute list of things he still needed to do before the mission officially commenced.

Truth be told, his leg was pretty much fine now, so the constant exams were a little annoying. But, _fuck_ if he was going to say that in front of the nice-but-unhinged lady with the scalpel. Not with the way-too-large maniacal smile the dark-haired woman had with the prospect of using it!

Beyond freezing his balls off, which was pretty much going to top the list for as long as they were here because _fuck_ was Sidewinder cold, there was just running checks on equipment and seeing what his teammates were up to.

Tucker knew that there was no need to worry any about the Red Team side of the spectrum as Sarge was pretty much making sure that they were running like a well-oiled machine. Their lieutenants seemed to be working well with encouragement from both Donut and Doc.

Even socially awkward Simmons had seemed to jump into his new Red Team role for this mission with gusto, working quite readily alongside both the more senior members of the team and the lieutenants. Of course, Tucker suspected the Above Grounder’s dedication to duty could partially be a way for the cyborg to avoid having any sort of “talk” with his fat husband before the mission. The teal-armored soldier wasn’t quite sure Simmons’ volunteering for the mission had been something he had actually checked by Grif first.

However, the Slums dweller did see Lopez nearly blow a fuse or gasket whenever Jensen so much as _looked_ at one of the smaller ground transports they had acquired recently and none of her other teammates were there to pull the lieutenant away.

In Lopez’s defense, the girl _was_ a horrible driver and somehow had run into the robot three times when they were all still underground. Even though those accidents had been with her going as slow as molasses, the robot’s wariness was understandable.

As for the transports themselves, Tex had said it was best not to ask where or how exactly they had been acquired. Taking her thinly veiled warning at face value, Tucker figured it was smart to not ask any questions the former Freelancer clearly wasn’t in the mood to answer. Not that she was ever in a mood to answer any questions. Probably best to just avoid asking the Above Grounder anything, truthfully.

Speaking of the redhead, he didn’t even _have_ to check in on Tex to know that Kimball’s attack squad were working equally as hard. Fuck, Tucker suspected the _only_ reason that they were still here and not already moving in to kill some asshole mercenaries yet was because they had to wait for present company to catch up to their level of readiness.

That reality seemed to be literally any second away from happening now.

So, naturally, that had left Tucker to check up on his own team. The results of which had been just as he had expected given that it wasn’t as if they had been sitting around twiddling their thumbs just because he had been stuck getting his leg examined by Doctor Grey.

No, of course not. Because they were _all_ fucking awesome.

Caboose, Andersmith, and Palomo had helped redistribute ammo as Freckles’ booming voice scared a few unsuspecting people who hadn’t yet caught on about there being a talking gun present. During that distribution process, C.T. had been efficiently running equipment checks with Sheila’s help.

Washington had gone on another perimeter check with Kimball and North before Tucker had gone to see Doctor Grey, so the Resistance fighter didn’t know where he was currently. But, he suspected that wherever the blonde was or whatever he was doing it probably had something to do with getting all of them even more combat-ready before shit went down.

Honestly, that was only to be expected considering how paranoid the guy could be. Granted, in this case in particular, the Freelancer’s caution was probably justified. As if Tucker would ever admit it though.

There was literally _nothing_ for Tucker to do given that, and that realization must have shown on his face since C.T. had smiled slightly and suggested that now might be a good time to have a talk with Junior if he wanted.

Which had led to Tucker going up the ramp of the air transport, since Junior had decided to set-up “camp” at the spot where his part of the mission would be.

It was an actual camp too. The Blue Team member was still scratching his head at trying to figure out how his friends had found spare blankets.

Or, just how it was that Freckles could instruct Caboose on how to make a fort of any kind that he then relayed back to his son when in neither metal body the Virtual Intelligence had been housed in had there been actual arms or hands.

He was surprised to see Four Seven Niner moving past him with what looked like a bucket of soapy water, heading towards the cockpit.

“Spilled something?” Tucker asked conversationally, though he couldn’t picture the woman bringing any kind of liquid near the controls of her transport. If someone else _had_ , he imagined they would have all heard their faraway cries as they were being murdered by the pilot in question.

“Nope.” That was about as much information as he was probably going to get on the subject, he knew.

Especially since, seconds later, she motioned towards the makeshift fort, “Your kid is in there with his two babysitters if you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks.”

The tan woman nodded before quickly adding, “Probably should help him take all of that down before things heat up. Not the best place to have a blanket fort. Besides, I’m pretty sure your big friend in orange would just sleep in it.”

“Don’t I know it.” Tucker grinned and, since he knew that the pilot had probably been extra-patient with the whole fort thing considering how protective she was about her work-space, quickly reassured her, “I’ll get it cleaned up. No worries.”

“Good.” With a curt nod, the Above Grounder disappeared to the front of the space.

As soon as she had done so, Doyle’s head popped up from the folds of the blankets in the center of the transport, quickly followed by Junior’s.

“Ah, I _thought_ I heard you, Tucker!” The personal assistant said cheerfully enough in greeting, “I imagine things are going well with the preparations outside, then?”

“As well as can be expected.” He shrugged, “We’re pretty much ready, by this point.”

“I assumed as much.” A frown had found its way across the older man’s features, and Tucker knew that he was probably trying to come to terms in his own way with what was about to happen now that it wasn’t very far off.

“Blarg!” Junior was grinning up at him in his own greeting, apparently oblivious to what was being said.

Although it was more like his son was just pretending to be oblivious. Tucker had learned early on that the boy was quite perceptive and knew what was going on around him during “adult” talk. Junior just pretended otherwise more often than not due to not wanting to worry anyone, or have them thinking they had to tone conversations down in his presence

“Hey, kiddo!” Tucker smiled back.

Doyle cleared his throat, standing up and exiting the campsite, “I’ll let you two talk then.” He informed them, before giving a slight nod to the fort he had just left behind, “The other fellow is still asleep.”

Ah, well, that _was_ pretty fitting for a lazy-ass like Grif. Even more so now that he was as badly injured as he was.

Truthfully, Tucker had thought his childhood friend was nuts for still trying to participate in the assault even in this limited guard monitor duty. But, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t understand the reasoning as to _why_ the older Grif sibling had wanted to do so all the same.

“Thanks.” Tucker paused, thinking of something else just then at the sight he had just witnessed, “Also, thanks for looking out for him too.”

“It’s been no trouble at all. Really.” Doyle smiled self-deprecatingly, “The pilot already told me nervous hovering wouldn’t…err… _fly_ , so to speak, around here at the moment. It gave me something else to occupy my thoughts with.” He regarded Junior fondly, “He’s a good sport to put up with me for so long.”

“Honk!” Junior nodded his head, soaking up the praise. He certainly was rather similar to his dad in that regard.

“Indeed.” Doyle remarked back before looking questioningly over at Tucker once more, “I take it Miss Kimball and Sarge are still outside somewhere?”

“Last time I had seen them.” Tucker informed him, “If you go outside you should be able to _hear_ Sarge well enough, at least.”

“Always was easy to find that fellow in a crowd.” Doyle joked, giving a curt nod to both father and son before excusing himself from their presence entirely.

Kimball, Doyle, and Sarge had been talking quite a bit recently about a lot of political stuff that Tucker didn’t even really care enough about currently to pay much attention to. He knew it had something to do about a potential “afterwards” for the people in the Slums and the residents of the city literally overhead of the mining colony, but to him those were moot points in the face of what was happening now.

After all, they wouldn’t have _any_ future if this didn’t pan out.

“Blarg?”

Junior had emerged from his tent and walked over to his father, a questioning look in his eyes at the contemplative demeanor the man was currently displaying.

Tucker shook it off quickly and stared down at his child, ignoring the stab of guilt that had worked its way into his heart as he did so.

The Resistance fighter tried. He honestly fucking did. But, he _always_ worried.

Junior could have probably done a lot better with anyone else other than him as a father. He’d inadvertently put his son through so much shit.

First with staying on as part of the Resistance following his birth even if, technically speaking, Junior wouldn’t have existed if it wasn’t for Tucker having been a member of it to begin with. Then with Junior getting taken and experimented on, and now bringing him along on their last ditch effort to save _anything_.

Tucker had debated that last one for a long while as, even with _everyone_ he was close to going to Sidewinder, he could have had Junior stay at the hideout instead.

But, if they failed? Then, everyone he trusted with his son would be gone.

The odds were way too high that Junior would be found and killed in the final “sweeping” of Resistance members that would be sure to follow such an outcome. Or, the half-alien would just get caught and held for experimentation again.

It was a no-win situation. Junior’s insistence on not being left behind and his wanting to help hadn’t made things any easier. The boy had made it quite apparent he would _not_ tolerate Tucker leaving him too far behind given their forced separation before.

The temper tantrum that had occurred when Tucker had even attempted trying to reason with his son had been one for the record books, complete with throwing heavy objects around with an ease that made even Tex whistle in appreciation.

This “compromise” between the two extremes of either bringing along or leaving him behind that Doyle and Sarge, of all people, had come up with was the one thing that both parent and child had finally, albeit reluctantly, agreed on.

Even still, Junior wasn’t too happy at being relegated to the sidelines and him being close to _any_ fighting still sucked major ass in Tucker’s mind.

It was what it was though, he supposed.

Tucker sighed and willed his eyes not to water slightly as he pulled the child into a tight hug.

“You know I love you, right, Junior?” He asked him softly, “That will _never_ change. No matter what.”

“Blarg!” Junior’s affirmation was quick and to the point as he returned the gesture.

They pulled away quickly, Tucker still feeling hesitant to do so despite getting the emotional shit out of the way.

Yeah, he knew he was just as bad as the Grif siblings when it came to that sort of thing even if he would make fun of Grif especially for it.

Junior was already pulling him towards the tent flap to show off his handiwork. The teal-armored soldier hadn’t really had the chance to see it up close before, since Caboose had wanted it to be a “surprise” when he and Freckles were helping Junior set it up.

Tucker frowned, “I’m not sure, Junior. I mean, it _is_ bitching awesome, but I’ve seen Grif sleeping too many times to count so—“

“Good thing he isn’t here then.” Washington’s voice cut in curtly, causing Tucker to pause just to make sure he was processing what he had heard correctly.

Sure enough, Mister Badass Freelancer Agent Extraordinaire was sleepily rubbing his gray eyes from amidst his son’s blanket fort.

In hindsight, even though he had known Grif was going to be here when the mission was underway, not to mention what a lazy ass his friend could be so that he’d probably jump at the chance for a nap in a makeshift tent of comfy blankets, maybe he shouldn’t have just assumed he was who Doyle had meant earlier. But, Tucker probably would have never guessed Washington as an alternative in a million years.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Washington ignored the disbelief on Tucker’s face as he moved over to let the two have more room inside, apparently wanting to humor the child since it was apparent that Junior was pretty eager to show his work off.

“It’s a good design.” The blonde noted thoughtfully instead, smiling at the pleased _“Honk!”_ that followed this remark from the half-alien.

“So, you’re an expert on blanket forts too?” Tucker couldn’t help but tease a bit at this apparent new development, as that certainly wasn’t something most special agents would be wanting to make public knowledge.

“Er…” Washington was blushing in embarrassment, shoulders shrinking in on themselves sheepishly, “I may have actually made one in a transport myself. Once. Just to see if I could.”

That explained Four Seven Niner’s odd patience for this type of antic then.

Tucker grinned at the notion. The idea of a dorkier Washington was something he always enjoyed hearing about for some reason.

“Stop that.” Washington didn’t seem as thrilled with having just supplied the teal-wearing fighter with that type of information.

“I’m not making fun, dude. Honest!” The Slums dweller shrugged, trying with marginal success to avoid erupting into a chuckling fit and piss the blonde off further since Tucker apparently had more control than most people gave him credit for because _fuck_ if that wasn’t hard to do, “It’s nice learning that kind of thing about you.”

“Really?” Washington didn’t seem too convinced of Tucker’s sincerity as his face turned rather red and there was a hitch in his voice that Tucker couldn’t quite place. Rather suddenly, the Above Grounder seemed more awake too.

He nodded, “Yeah. It’s a _good_ thing, Wash.” Tucker informed him, even using the nickname he hadn’t really noticed he’d begun using a lot more frequently for the Freelancer, “Means you’re human after all, and all that shit.”

“Tucker—”

“Besides,” and Tucker cut him off because something in Washington’s expression just then had caused _his face_ to start heating up and now was really not a good time for that, “It’s always great when someone can appreciate how awesome Junior is at making things!”

“Blarg!” Junior beamed, though he was sure to add in a quick, “Honk, blarg!”

“Right.” Tucker nodded in response to Junior’s insistence that it hadn’t been just him who had built said Fort of Awesome, “Caboose and Freckles helped too.”

“Honk!”

Junior seemed appeased at his friends getting their due credit. So, Tucker looked at Washington who had been quiet during their exchange, noticing the fond smile that had appeared on the Above Grounder’s face while he had been watching the two of them, “Let me guess. They kicked you out of preparing anymore?”

The blonde winced in embarrassment, which pretty much confirmed Tucker’s theory about why the Freelancer was here currently, “It was mostly just suggestions that I rest for a bit.” Washington informed him, adding with a slight shiver, “But, Tex threatened to beat me to death if I didn’t, and Connie threatened to throw knives if she caught me so much as _looking_ at another supply list.”

Washington had been pretty much going nonstop since they had arrived at base, so it was no wonder that the others had put their feet down finally on the grounds of health concerns.

The Slums dweller would have nearly been convinced the blonde was some kind of robot at this point if it weren’t for the fact that Tucker had seen the dark circles under the other’s eyes whenever he wasn’t wearing a helmet. They had only gotten worse over time.

Tucker had tried to get the Above Grounder to rest earlier himself, but he could never get the older male to listen. Probably because the Resistance fighter _couldn’t_ back up his sound reasoning as to why taking a break was a good idea with the threat of a monumental beat-down to further hit home his point.

Given that, it made sense as to why Washington had wandered to the transport then, and why he had apparently pretty much passed out there too while “taking it easy” with Doyle and Junior. Tucker suspected he had been running on nearly empty for quite some time, only hanging on because the giant stick in the Freelancer’s ass tended to make him be both impressively and infuriatingly stubborn at the same time.

It was a shame that the blonde was awake, as somewhere in the back of Tucker’s mind a small voice he was trying to quiet down was still saying what a surprisingly entrancing sight a sleepy Washington had been. Now that the older man was awake though, he seemed ready to jump into something again. His gaze was already looking around the transport anxiously for some task to catch his eye.

Which would probably start the whole process over again, and the thought of the Freelancer collapsing in a firefight wasn’t one that Tucker was at all keen on.

So, Tucker did what he did best and improvised.

“Since Junior showed me his kickass fort, we should probably put it away before Four Seven Niner comes back and sets it on fire.” He joked.

“She actually did that. Once.” Washington muttered rather darkly under his breath, a haunted look crossing over his features at whatever he was recollecting.

Mystery as to what had been the ultimate fate of Agent Washington’s “test fort” was solved. Even without every detail that story just kept getting better and better!

“Oh, poor baby!” Tucker laughed, dodging the rolled up blanket that Washington hurled his way while the older man’s face now sported its own awkward grin.

The teal-armored soldier tried not thinking about how oddly enjoyable this interaction was, even with the threat of potential death still looming over them.

Washington was a lot more multi-faceted than he had thought.

“So, anyways, what to help us?” Tucker threw the blanket back, while Junior watched the exchange between the two adults with obvious amusement plastered on his face, “Since you’re the _fort expert_ and all.”

It _was_ work still, but light work that wasn’t centered on the doom and gloom they were currently facing. Keeping Washington from that for just a bit longer would probably be helpful. Who knew how much rest the Freelancer had actually gotten in what was probably way too short a break for what he really needed?

Whether or not Washington had figured out Tucker’s goal with the suggestion, he couldn’t say. But, the other man gave him an unreadable look just then before slumping his shoulders and sighing.

“You just want me to do all the work so you and Junior can goof off together a little bit longer, right?” The blonde asked, although he didn’t seem annoyed or exasperated at the notion, only understanding as to why that might be.

Father and son exchanged a look together and grinned conspiratorially. Yeah, Junior was fucking awesome at reading between the lines!

Then Tucker shook his head in response to the Freelancer’s question.

“Nah, we’ll help.” The Resistance fighter informed him, “But, it might take _twice_ as long because we’re pretty horrible folders.”

Not really, but Washington didn’t need to know that. Not like being decent at folding articles of clothing or bedding was a skill you’d really brag about besides.

It was all part of the plan.

There was a knowing, somewhat appreciative glint in Washington’s eyes and Tucker was nearly convinced he was about to call them out on their bullshit then and there.

Instead, he nodded, “Fine.” He agreed, before adding after a thoughtful pause, “Afterwards though, we’ll have Doctor Grey check your leg again too. Just to be safe.”

That earned a groan from the dark skinned man, “ _Fine._ ”

Visiting the crazy doctor again was not high on Tucker’s list of things that he wanted to do, especially since he had _just_ gone to see her for the very leg injury in question about two hours ago! But, it would still serve as something of a distraction from the really heavy finishing preparations for Washington, so he supposed he could suffer through it again if he had to.

“Good.”

There was an awkward pause as Washington started folding the blanket they’d thrown before, with Junior and Tucker handling one of the larger ones that had served as a wall for the fort.

He glanced over at Tucker a second later, red spotting his face, “Hey, Tucker?”

“Yeah?” Tucker looked over from a now blanket-swaddled Junior. This _might_ take even longer than he’d thought initially thanks to Junior’s awesome play-acting. They were _both_ that good!

“Never mind.” Washington seemed hesitant about saying whatever it was he had been about to say, instead settling on, “Thanks. For this.”

The blonde motioned to the blanket he had just perfectly folded up, face still slightly red but the look in his eyes more amused and touched than anything.

So, the Freelancer had totally fucking known his strategy from the beginning too. Fucking prick! Tucker almost felt a little cheated knowing that.

Well, at least Washington wasn’t arguing with it or mad. He supposed that counted as a little victory then.

Tucker grinned, “You’re welcome. Though you have _got_ to tell me the full fort story at some point, dude.”

“…Maybe later.”

Tucker tried not to dwell on how Washington had to pause to avoid saying “ _if_ ” just then, how he had seemed reluctant to say anything confirming in general. Or how the look that crossed the blonde’s face seemed way too fucking sad for what should be a fun future event.

Right now, the teal-armored soldier just wanted to focus on how oddly pleasant being here with Junior and Washington was.

“It’s a promise then.”

There was a lot that wasn’t said between the two adults, and whether Junior caught on or not he wasn’t sure. The Slums dweller suspected his son was probably more aware of whatever it was between them than even they were, but Junior seemed happy too. That part in particular he wanted to burn into his memory right now.

Tucker wondered, given the odd fleeting smile on Washington’s face when he regarded them again, if he wasn’t thinking the same thing too. Surprisingly, that idea was a really pleasant one that the Resistance fighter found he also wanted to recall later on.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons wasn’t really sure how to process what had been going on recently. In a lot of ways, it was very much a blur of hectic activity.

It had been, in fact, ever since the huge blowout with Grif where he had ended up probably revealing way more than he’d ever intended about his feelings.

Actually, the redhead realized that it might be for the best that he hadn’t had an actual chance yet to process things or have a moment to himself. Because Simmons knew that the very second when he’d be able to think back on shit, he’d both dwell and overanalyze it as was his wont. That would more than likely be followed by a panic attack, and then the knowledge that he’d _never_ be able to face his friend again.

He could still recall the impromptu nap they’d had together, which had been _so_ nice and comfy and totally out of the cyborg’s comfort zone but so in Grif’s that _fuck it_! Simmons had felt more at ease then than he would probably ever feel comfortable admitting.

Following that, the redhead had gone about making arrangements to get to the location of the Resistance members currently stationed on the planet’s surface.

Carolina and Church had been more than eager to help, not even batting an eye at the sudden change in demeanor from Simmons’ earlier reluctance. Well, Church _had_ muttered something along the lines of _”Guess Chubby is good for something after all beyond being lazy.”_

The two leaders’ helpful actions weren’t too surprising given how readily they had wanted the last member of their team out of the city proper.

Simmons hadn’t seen either of them since though, so who knew what the fuck they were doing currently? Sheila and Doc were in the dark on that as well.

The three of them had tried asking Washington what Carolina and Church were doing in the rare instances when the blonde _wasn’t_ working himself into a coma since it seemed as if the Freelancer might have known what their two teammates were up to. But, he seemed reluctant to talk about it at all with the three of them.

That had been a bit upsetting to their team, but not really too surprising.

So long as the three of them did what they felt was best and didn’t die, they would be doing their absent leaders proud. At least, that had been the most Washington could, or wanted, to say on the subject. It seemed as if even the Above Grounder wasn’t sure it was actually accurate.

Simmons suspected that, so long as none of them died horribly, neither Church nor Carolina would care if all they did was drive a transport in circles. The sentiment behind Agent Washington’s pep talk _was_ nice though, so he chose to go with that instead for his own personal point of view.

Things had been even more of a blur for him ever since arriving at the bunker that was serving as the Resistance’s hideout, which was also to be expected given how quickly their deadline for the mission had been approaching.

The cyborg barely even had any time to adjust to the new environment or routines, apparently filling in for Grif’s role on Red Team due to the other’s poor condition.

It had been hectic and nerve-wracking at first. Honestly, it still was.

But, Simmons found himself fitting in a whole lot more in the mismatch of personalities amongst the Resistance members than he ever did with the general soldier populace of Above Ground, save possibly his own team.

Speaking of Above Ground, interacting with his old friend C.T. again had been wonderful too, even if they hadn’t been able to really “catch up” or anything like that given how busy everyone was in the Resistance.

Sarge even reminded him of a rather more aggressive and violent Captain Flowers. He had tried not choking up the first time the red-armored soldier had patted his back and said he had done a good job with a task he couldn’t even remember now.

Embarrassingly, the Above Grounder hadn’t succeeded entirely in keeping the tears from his eyes, and “lightish-red” armor wearing Donut even asked him gently afterwards if he needed a hug.

Simmons, Sheila, and Doc all seemed to find niches they could fill with the Resistance. It was a welcome experience in a lot of ways considering how their group in Above Ground military had been treated as more or less “afterthoughts” a majority of the time.

Seriously, if they weren’t dealing with a situation that was currently looking like it would wipe out more than half of their planet’s population, Simmons would be relishing the chance to further acclimate to this new work environment.

Unfortunately, that really hadn’t been much of an option since things had been very much trial-by-fire in the time that had blurred by since meeting up with the Resistance.

The redhead was happy to be here and eager to help. In some ways, not having too much time meant that he wasn’t able to get so much into his own head and get too self-conscious. Which may be something of a plus, all things considered.

No, the worst thing about the whole experience at the moment was that looming over all of their heads was a timer and the knowledge that they might fail. That none of this would even matter in the end.

It was painful to think that he might _not_ have the chance to adjust more, or to talk with Grif again.

Thankfully, or unthankfully, the two of them hadn’t had much time to discuss what had happened before between them either. Not with everything else taking precedence.

Simmons really wasn’t sure Grif should even be here, but the most he had been able to do on the subject was hound Grif into not pushing himself too hard. He even volunteered to take Grif’s place on Red Team so that the orange-armored soldier wouldn’t think he’d _have_ to go out into combat when that was definitely not an option.

If they had more of a chance to talk, if Simmons blurted out why that was or how he felt even more then…

The cyborg sighed inwardly, letting his thoughts drift off since he knew this wasn’t really the time or place to be dwelling on what-ifs.

“There! That was the last of them!”

Jensen’s slurred voice broke through his thoughts, and he noticed her patting the shut storage compartment of the transport they were standing near.

He blinked, embarrassed at having gotten so side-tracked again in the middle of important work.

The two female lieutenants assigned to Red Team, Jensen and Volleyball, had been tasked with moving some explosives on to the transport along with the robot Lopez. However, someone had shouted for assistance earlier and Volleyball had gone off to help whoever it was, so Simmons offered to help the others in her stead.

“Thank you both for your help, sirs!” The maroon-trimmed lieutenant declared happily, saluting Simmons and Lopez.

Simmons smiled back in embarrassment and his usual awkwardness whenever he was praised, though he was a bit more comfortable around Jensen now in general due to their earlier talk before the rescue mission for Grif and Junior, “Well, it’s not like I was doing anything so—”

¿Y quién en su sano juicio que sigue dejando cerca de los vehículos en el primer lugar? Si dejamos que lo haga solo, roturas del transporte darían a cabo y habría chocado contra una montaña. En cámara lenta con cantidades improbables de explosiones y una avalancha.” _{“And who in their right mind keeps letting you near vehicles in the first place? If we let you do this alone, the transport's breaks would give out and it would have crashed into a mountain. In slow motion with improbable amounts of explosions and an avalanche.”}_

Lopez was eyeing Jensen’s hand still on the transport warily, as if expecting a horrible accident to occur due to the proximity. From what Simmons had heard about the young girl’s driving records, perhaps the robot’s concern was somewhat justified.

Oblivious to the trepidation in her seniors, Jensen regarded the transport thoughtfully, “What I don’t get is why Sarge wants us to put the explosives in this transport to begin with.” She mused aloud, “It’s not even being used for this mission.”

“¿Crees que se ha tenido razón?” _{“Do you think he's ever had reason?”}_

Simmons frowned, recalling that she was right about the transport not actually being used for the upcoming assault from data-pads he had seen involving which weaponry and machines they would be taking with them but remembering what Sarge had told them earlier, “He said it is for some kind of backup scenario in case things don’t go as planned.”

“Eso es sólo código para que él está esperando a soplar mierda hasta más tarde.” _{“That's just code for that he's hoping to blow shit up later.”}_

Jensen nodded, apparently thinking that this made perfect sense. She tapped a finger on her helmet, as if going through a mental list of whatever other things she still needed to do.

It couldn’t be much, really. They had pretty much prepared everything and were just now waiting for the orders to move out.

Fuck. Simmons was fairly certain he had checked over everything about twenty times at least just to help with his nerves.

Truthfully, he had offered to help Jensen and Lopez with this last-minute preparation of Sarge’s because he had been unsuccessfully hoping to avoid thinking of talking to someone in particular too.

“Captain Grif!” Jensen was waving said individual over as the cyborg was dwelling on just that.

_Oh, fuck it._

Simmons tensed slightly at the sight of Grif hobbling over. The redhead could imagine the wince covering his friend’s tanned face with the very effort, and he tried not thinking of the myriad injuries no doubt threatening to reopen with the movement and added pressure of the orange armor.

What the fuck was he thinking even _being_ here?

The Above Grounder knew why the Slums dweller had wanted to reunite with his comrades, but even _that_ had been pushing it given his injuries. While he knew Grif had wanted to assist still and could also more than understand the why of that too, the maroon-armored soldier really wished he had stayed behind.

It would have been best from a health stance if nothing else, and probably for Simmons’ own state of mind too. Not to mention those of Kai as well as Grif’s friends here as well.

As it was, at least Grif being assigned to the air transport meant he’d be more or less stationary and hopefully not directly involved in the mission. But, _still_.

“Sarge said Kimball is calling for everyone to get to their positions soon.” Grif informed them as he came up, his helmet only just slightly covering up how winded he was at the effort it took to reach them.

Jensen looked slightly nervous, glancing around at her three superiors to gauge their reactions.

Simmons gave her a reassuring smile before remembering he still had his helmet on and nodded, “We’ve been preparing for this for a while, Jensen. Things are going to be fine.”

“Yeah, after all this shit you guys have pulled recently, this will be a walk in the park.” Grif chimed in, the redhead giving him a grateful glance for the added encouragement.

“You’re right.” He was fairly certain the tanned girl’s grin was showing all of her retainer, “We _have_ to do this.”

“Eso sí, no follando duro y las cosas van a estar bien.” _{“Just don't fucking drive and things will be fine.”}_

Lopez added in his own words of encouragement, whatever they were, before apparently thinking of something else to say in that vein as well to the youngest member in their midst.

“O, mejor aún ... conducir y el objetivo correcto para el pueblo disparando a nosotros esta vez.” _{“Or, better yet...drive and aim right for the people shooting at us this time.”}_

From farther away, Simmons spotted the other Red Team lieutenants hanging back, evidently wanting to wait for Jensen before taking up their positions.

“I should get going then.” Jensen had noticed that as well, her head tilted slightly in the direction of her friends before she regarded them again and saluted once more, “Thank you, Captains!”

Along with a friendly wave, the tan girl moved past them to join the other newer Resistance members. She spared a glance between Grif and Simmons as she did so before shooting a less than subtle thumbs up in Simmons’ direction that caused him to blush horribly under his helmet.

He had found out that all of the lieutenants, particularly the females given their closeness to Kai, were very supportive of his feelings for Grif. Which was both touching and made things horribly awkward all at once.

Grif cast a questioning glance his way, but Simmons ignored it. Instead, he watched as Jensen caught up to the waiting Volleyball, Matthews, and Bitters.

He noticed that the male yellow and orange-trimmed lieutenants were standing quite close to one another, shoulders practically touching. Their fingers were just a few centimeters apart and every so often they would bump them against the other’s, as if for reassurance.

Seeing that made him smile somewhat, but also caused a lump to form in his throat that made it quite difficult to look at Grif in particular.

“Supongo que debería irme demasiado entonces. No quiero llegar tarde a más probable es volar por los aires.” _{“I guess I should get going too then. Don't want to be late to most likely getting blown up.”}_

With that, Lopez walked off as well, which left the two friends standing there awkwardly.

Simmons wasn’t really sure what to say or do. Truthfully, they hadn’t really spoken about everything that had occurred before meeting up with the Resistance. He felt like even attempting to do so now given what they were about to do was just incredibly sucky timing, and there was nowhere near enough of it.

Besides, if Grif wanted to argue about the Above Grounder’s decisions since he had reunited with the Resistance? Well, he’d prefer _not_ doing that just now either.

“Hey.” Grif spoke up just then, breaking into his thoughts and looking just as awkward over having done so as Simmons felt currently.

“Hey.” Simmons fidgeted nervously, “Grif, w—we should get going—“

“I know.” Grif sighed, looking defeated in his body language even through his armor, “Relics to find and people to shoot at.”

The cyborg frowned, “You _should_ be resting.”

It was the closest thing the redhead would allow himself at this moment to say regarding what he really felt about Grif even being on transport duty in his current condition.

“ _You_ shouldn’t have to be going on an assault like this to begin with.” Grif shot back, “None of us should.”

The maroon-armored soldier knew it was the closest the Slums dweller would get to voicing out loud his opinion on the shitty situation they were all in just because the current Chairman of the Council was a murderous asshole. At least since his panic attack at Simmons’ house earlier.

Grif shrugged, “It is what it is, Simmons. I’m not about to just let everyone I care about go off and do something stupid without me.”

“Even if that means doing something just as stupid yourself?” The Above Grounder asked, raising a red eyebrow.

He could just picture Grif’s grin as he nodded, “Exactly. It is the world’s dumbest game of chicken _ever_.”

Simmons supposed he couldn’t really argue, though he quickly muttered _“Idiot.”_ under his breath.

“Suck up.” Grif’s response was just as automatic, just as oddly tinged with fondness.

The tan man fidgeted slightly afterwards, “Thanks, though, Simmons. For everything.” The injured Resistance member took a deep breath before continuing, “And for understanding, even if I know you want to scream and bitch at me right now.”

The cyborg couldn’t really deny that either.

Simmons smiled slightly, “It’s more than understandable, Grif. I…I want to help too.”

There was a heavy silence following that, and Simmons panicked thinking that he had said more than he should have at this point in time just then.

“I know.” Grif looked at him pointedly, “Just don’t die or something trying. Okay, asshole?”

“You too, fat-ass.” Simmons nodded his head both in response to Grif’s request and because he had just thought of something else he wanted to say, “Immediately after this, you’re going on bedrest for _months_ if you have to.”

The Slums dweller laughed and Simmons was struck again by just how much he _loved_ that sound, “You really won’t have to force me not to do work when the threat of imminent doom isn’t hanging overhead, you know.”

“You _are_ a lazy fuck.” Simmons greed, smiling fondly.

“You should take it easy too for a change after this.” Grif was looking at him contemplatively through his helmet, “You know, if your brain will let you that is.”

The cyborg smiled more, not noticing the odd tension in Grif’s body at that last comment, as if there’d been more meaning to the suggestion than he had let on just then, “I think we’re all due for that if we manage to pull this off.”

There was a beeping sound emitting from inside the redhead’s helmet just then, a signal informing him that he should definitely be moving into position now. Seeing Grif tense up next to him, he knew he had just received it too.

“Need help getting back to the transport?” The Above Grounder asked, concerned once again over his injuries and him moving around too much. At least holding that transport position would mean hopefully limited movement for the Resistance fighter’s injuries.

Grif shook his head, “Nah. I got here just fine on my own, didn’t I? Might just need a few breaks along the way.”

Simmons frowned, about to argue, when Grif cut him off preemptively, “You should head to your position before Sarge starts shouting louder. Or starts waving his shotgun around even more than usual.”

“Right.”

Reluctantly, the redhead turned to leave, only to be stopped by an oddly hesitant hand suddenly grasping his arm. He looked over at Grif questioningly, but the chubby man seemed just as surprised by his own action.

“Umm…” Almost reluctantly himself, Grif let the cyborg’s arm drop and couldn’t even turn his helmet to look at Simmons’ visor, “Don’t…don’t die, Simmons. Seriously.”

The maroon-armored soldier nodded, the lump in his throat seemingly getting bigger and the pounding of his nonexistent heart even louder than all of the other times when he was usually nervous or excited over something, “Y—you too.”

Even through their helmets, there was a lot they knew the other was thinking without it being spoken out loud.

Hesitatingly, with a final nod to the other, they both went their separate ways.

_After this_ , Simmons decided. The redhead knew he was _more_ than fucking ready to lay everything out in the open between them.

They just had to be sure to survive this mission first.

*****

“ _Any_ fucking time now. Literally.”

Carolina looked over at her robotic “cousin” standing nearby. Despite the tenseness in her body language, he could just _picture_ one of her red eyebrows quirking upwards in mild amusement to what she no doubt thought was the hilarious image of a fully-armored male stamping his foot into the snowy ground like a petulant two-year-old.

“Just a few more seconds.” She remarked, before adding in pointedly, “ _You’re_ the one who decided to go for the less direct approach, remember?”

Leonard Church had, if only because the timed-together attacks before had worked a lot better than he had anticipated during the whole rescuing the orange fat-ass and alien kid fiasco.

Fuck, apparently Tex and the crazy old guy in the red armor had launched an attack of their own then too, which had actually been what kind of inspired this whole plan they were going with now.

Carolina had wanted to simply go in guns blazing, especially since they had staked out a hidden away entrance that they knew wouldn’t be as heavily populated, largely thanks to acquiring the layout of the entire facility due to his newly found awesome hacking skills.

Also _maybe_ because Delta had helped him on that front too before he had returned to his partner York thanks to what had transpired after the previously mentioned rescue plan.

But, Church had just found out that he could do awesome shit like that, so he was going to roll with it since it was better than getting upset over his circumstances. Doc would probably be proud of him for trying to “think positively” or whatever other stupid shit the medic could turn into a motto.

Truth be told, Carolina’s original plan would have no doubt worked out just fine, _assuming_ they could disable the security features fairly quickly as they went.

But, this place was quite large in reality, and it was also housing the giant pain-in-the-ass relic of doom. Dealing with that along with the Director would be more than just a bit tricky since there was no way they could leave something like that alone if they did happen to come across it.

The Resistance had their own plans for the facility largely because of previously mentioned weapon of mass destruction.

In a way, it was easy enough and made a lot of sense from a tactical point of view to “piggyback” off of their already planned assault with one of their own.

Church preferred thinking of it as them “helping” the cause in a way. Another attack happening at the same time as the Resistance’s would further divide enemy attention and, since they weren’t actually at all in direct communication with the Resistance at the moment, they would never really be risking “jeopardizing” their goals by somehow unintentionally leaking intel.

If they came upon the relic-weapon first, they would sure as fuck destroy the thing. If they found the Director first, well…

Then the man who had not only put them through so much shit, but who had also helped turn the ancient alien tech into a mass-murdering bomb, sure as fuck wouldn’t be around much longer to help anyone make another one.

Total win-win, really. Church knew that Carolina had agreed to the plan largely because she felt the same way on the matter.

He just hoped all of those assholes with the Resistance currently survived to appreciate the gesture. Or just because it would suck if they did die, but not like he was going to say that out loud anytime soon.

As if reading his mind, rather loud gunfire began going off from quite some ways away. The noise was muffled somewhat by the rock this side-entrance was built into to conveniently “blend in” to the environment. Which meant that they weren’t really in much of a position to see what was actually going on at any of the other sides of the facility unless they hacked into a monitoring system later on.

But, considering that and how loud the weaponry going off _still_ was, it was pretty obvious the sounds were being made by a whole shitload of guns and explosives.

_Those morons better be okay._

The idea of camouflaging even part of the Sidewinder facility from view was pretty laughable, considering how there was no way anyone in their right mind who _wasn’t_ meant to be assigned here would just be randomly going for a goddamned stroll in this remote of a middle-of-nowhere area in subzero temps and stumble upon it.

He knew there had been _some_ attempt at hiding the facility at the other points of entry too, though this was by far the one that seemed to be the most concealed—no doubt it was the entrance often used by the more important and higher clearance visitors and employees rather than just the average grunts.

They’d had to bypass a shitload of security to sneak to this spot themselves, and he knew a large portion of the Resistance’s strategy had been to go in through a blind spot in the air surveillance thanks to the aforementioned attack that had landed them an air transport earlier. Then they would make their way down quickly before the alarm had been scrambled for too long.

Before he could even so much as move in response to his and Carolina’s decided upon signal, the entrance they had been monitoring opened right on cue.

A group of soldiers stepped out, some in the typical white armor with various colored trims of the usual Above Ground military while a few were in the steel get-up of the mercenaries Hargrove was employing. They were apparently intent on using this more concealed space to launch some kind of surprise assault on the Resistance fighters, probably circling around in the hopes of catching them unawares.

The soldiers started at the sight of the two armored individuals who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be _waiting_ for the door to open. Technically, Church and Carolina had just been waiting for the attack to start in earnest, but that probably looked about the same to the soldiers here.

For all of his complaining and impatience seconds before, Church froze at the sudden presence. He’d expected just to move forward and hack the door open, not to be facing a shitload of heavily armed combatants right off the bat.

Carolina, however, was more than ready to make up the difference.

The cyan-armored Freelancer launched forward in a blur, incapacitating one soldier with a kick to the jugular while shooting the one next to him deftly in a move that couldn’t have been more than three seconds apart from her first attack.

She was practically finished cleaning up before Church had even aimed his gun, though he noticed two of the soldiers that had been hanging in the back of the group inching towards the still open doorway behind them.

_Oh, shit!_

Church grimaced, shouting a warning of “Carolina!” to his human cousin while firing off a shot of his own.

The bullet buried itself into the wall about five meters away from either soldier, and Church suddenly remembered how much he _hated_ target practice just then.

Since he clearly wasn’t much of a threat with a weapon, and Carolina was just finishing making work of the last of their compatriots who _hadn’t_ tried making a run for it, the door closed and alarm bells began going off inside the A.I.’s head.

If they told, then—!

“Church!” Carolina’s voice cut through his momentary panic, the woman jerking her head to the control panel lock by the door, causing him to remember the initial plan they’d come up with.

“I’m on it!”

Suddenly he was _running_ , leaving his robotic body behind in the dust while phasing through the door. It was still a more than disconcerting feeling, but currently he didn’t really have the luxury of dwelling on all of that. Which maybe was one positive out of this whole shit-fest.

Church still didn’t quite understand the “how’s” of it all. In his mind, it seemed like he just “thought” about something like the door opening when going through it, but it had to be more complicated than that.

Still, whatever it was he did, it worked. The door reopened before the guards had managed to take another step or were able to activate their communication links.

He was already moving back to his robot body when Carolina had shot one of the soldiers, who crumpled to the floor of the hallway in a pool of blood. The sight reminded Church a bit too much of when that one crazy-ass Freelancer lady shot him and he had stared down at his first body, so he quickly averted his attention away.

The other soldier had turned his attention to Church’s prone form, having noticed his inactivity even if he probably hadn’t pierced together what was going on with the miniature Church now floating nearby.

Which would _suck_ , since having a body and all was kind of nice.

Church winced as he saw the soldier aim, or at least imagined the holographic form of himself doing so. He was still a bit iffy on the technicalities of his A.I. form, and whether or not he actually had a face under his helmet in it. Plus, he was more than just a little freaked out by dwelling too much on it besides to actively do so.

Carolina was just starting to turn her attention to the still-present threat when, very suddenly and very surprisingly, the enemy soldier in question had collapsed before Church’s relative even had a chance to fire her weapon.

No, it wasn’t the redhead who had taken their foe down. Rather, the gunshot that felled the soldier had come from behind them.

“What the--?” Church turned around to see just what had happened.

“Everyone’s always rushing into things these days. Wouldn’t you say, old chaps?”

Church tensed, recognizing the personable-sounding British voice anywhere. Largely on account of the person it belonged to having been one-half of the reason he had gotten shot and found out about the whole fucking “ _been an A.I. this entire time_ ” bit.

As did Carolina, having interacted even more with the man who had been her former teammate than Church had before that whole incident happened. Though she honestly seemed _way_ too fucking relaxed being in the traitorous Freelancer’s presence than he would have expected.

“Wyoming.” She said curtly in way of greeting, before adding to Church’s complete shock, “You’re a bit late.”

“Yes, well, sneaking away _is_ a bit of a tricky proposition when paranoid mercenaries are all about.” The white-armored former Freelancer stated just as pleasantly as before, “Though it looks like you handled things well enough in the meanwhile.”

Despite having no idea what was going on, Church couldn’t help but bristle at the way he was obviously excluded from that sentiment by the tilt of Wyoming’s helmet in only Carolina’s direction as he made his way back into his physical body, “Hey! I did shit too!”

“Yes, you opened a door.” Wyoming replied in a droll tone, “We’re all very impressed.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Church groaned, not appreciating the sarcasm that he loved dealing out himself, but definitely had a lower threshold for being on the receiving end, “That goes for Gamma too since I know he’s with you.”

“Hello. It is good to see you too, Church.” The white holographic figure came flashing into view at Wyoming’s shoulder, apparently deciding that was his cue to make his presence known, “Do you want to hear a knock-knock joke?”

Church wondered why Gamma was one of the few Fragments who took on a more human-looking countenance instead of appearing in armor. Truthfully, the less said about one of the other ones that also took that appearance the better, given the shitload of crap he was responsible for.

Gamma didn’t address him as Alpha or comment on the merging of him and Epsilon, despite Church knowing he already knew all about that given the last time they had communicated.

Gary, as he liked being called by Wyoming in particular, was a Fragment he couldn’t quite ever figure out.

“Yeah, we’re so not doing this right now.” Church glared at the two of them, “Come to think of it, _why_ aren’t the two of you trying to kill us?”

The two seemed more amused by the question than anything else, and that only pissed him off more. The Above Grounder hated being the last one to know something, especially _now_ given all of the fucking secrets that had been kept from him and his teammates before.

He shot the still frustratingly nonplussed Carolina a look instead, “Shouldn’t you be kicking their asses too?”

“You haven’t told him yet?” Wyoming asked, looking even _more_ amused by his posture if that was even possible, “Oh, this is good.”

“Tell me what, asshole?” Church frowned, definitely not liking being the butt of someone else’s joke, “The only reason you wouldn’t be trying to kill us is—”

“If he had received a better offer to _not_ do so.” Carolina stated quietly from next to him, finishing his train of thought.

Church looked at his cousin questioningly then, already starting to form an idea as to where this conversation was going and not quite sure if he was going to like the end result, “You mean, he’s been hired to fucking _help_ us?”

She remained silent, pointedly not looking at him, which spoke volumes.

“After all the shit he pulled?” The A.I. asked disbelievingly.

“Never let it be said that our dear Carolina isn’t generous.” Wyoming stated wryly in way of his own explanation of recent events.

When she turned finally to look at Church, gunshots still going off somewhere behind them in the distance, her body language left no shred of hesitation, “We needed all the help we could get, Church.”

“But—!” He stopped his protest before it even formed.

In a way, the Above Grounder knew what his cousin was saying was true. He also knew that as far as murderous, backstabbing mercenaries went, Wyoming actually wasn’t the worst possible choice for an ally. He was motivated by money more than anything else, especially with what happened to Maine in the past and everything. So, technically speaking, it made sense to seek the Freelancer’s services in particular _if_ certain requirements were met.

Since he wasn’t privy to any of this bullshit until just now, Church had no idea whether or not all of that had in fact been addressed. He also had no fucking clue how Carolina could even fucking _afford_ Wyoming’s services to begin with.

After all, the Freelancer had been working for Hargrove. He imagined that had nothing to do with any personal stake in the Chairman’s power-plays with the Council.

No, unlike a very misguided Washington, Church knew damn well that Wyoming’s loyalty to Hargrove had probably only extended as far as his considerable checkbook went.

“It’s a rather clever strategy.” Wyoming was recounting his own version of things as Church was still in the middle of processing the information, “Hargrove already paid me upfront for helping him to acquire the relic. I was never employed to _guard_ it afterwards.”

Leave it to the Above Grounder to know of all of the loopholes and technicalities when it came to mercenary employment. He imagined Wyoming was the type of person to check over a contract very particularly before agreeing to anything just for those very reasons, and he probably had Gamma do it too.

“Our friend Carolina here had a surprisingly large sum of money in her personal accounts.” Wyoming added in, tilting his head once more in her direction, “Not to mention reminding me of all of the potential future customers I could lose if the Slums are disposed of and the other Council members are forced out of power.”

Well, that made a lot of sense in particular. Church had suspected Carolina had some money squirreled away somewhere given her well-equipped safe house and all. Using the rest of it to hire Wyoming for _this_ job in particular was a twisted sort of poetic justice in a way considering who had left it to her in the first place.

Looking at things from strictly a business stance, a healthy dose of competition in terms of political powers and the like was sure to up the prices and demands for hired soldier services later on down the road whereas, if someone had the monopoly on that, prices could possibly diminish.

It all made a whole lot of sense given what he knew of Wyoming’s character.

Still, considering that there was _no_ fucking way that Carolina had the type of money Hargrove had even if she had been saving everything, which he knew she hadn’t as the safe house and some of her more pricey armaments were also a testament to that? Also, considering the fact that future, more lucrative business deals were only hypotheticals yet and nothing more?

Well, there had to be _something_ else to sway Wyoming to this type of action.

It hit the A.I. a moment later, though his stomach churned at having to relive that memory himself. He’d been the one to provide that little snippet of information to Wyoming during their past encounter after all, and it had been really horrible news about one of the few people Church had ever genuinely liked to boot.

“That info about Florida must have done a number on you, huh?” Church mused out loud.

Wyoming stiffened momentarily at the mention of Captain Flowers’ Freelancer name before shrugging, as if the question hadn’t bothered him as much as he’d just let show.

The façade didn’t last long in the slightest with the hard edge his voice took next, “Taking hard-earned money from someone for a job well-done and _then_ ruining their later plans is a rather time-honored way to pay someone back. Wouldn’t you say?”

Church couldn’t really argue. In a way, truthfully, it was just the same type of poetic justice Carolina had implemented by choosing to use her family inheritance money to hire Wyoming in the first place for this assault.

Oddly enough, knowing the more personal motivations behind why Wyoming would even agree to fight with them actually had him feeling a bit more comfortable with the whole concept in general.

That still didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be giving a certain redhead a hard time for keeping him in the dark about the whole thing though.

He turned to Carolina then questioningly, “You didn’t think to inform me of this because?”

She shrugged, and her rather calm demeanor suggested she knew full well he would react to the reveal this way, “Just a little payback for you sharing that intel about Florida without telling me before.”

Damn it. A _shitload_ of stuff had happened the day he had found out that he was an A.I., so he hadn’t really remembered that until now. But, now that Church remembered, his cousin had been more than just a tad miffed that he had shared that information with Wyoming before letting her or the others know it considering he had been trying to kill them at the time.

In his defense, that information had actually swayed Wyoming to just let bygones be bygones, or whatever the term was in that instance, but Church should have realized it would eventually come back in some way to bite him in the ass.

Carolina definitely liked getting even, and this was an oddly playful way for her to do just that. Just like in the fake memories he still had of when they used to tease each other as kids.

He shuddered slightly and tried not to think on what would happen if he ever truly fucking pissed her off. Somehow he suspected it would involve his own robotic legs getting shoved up where the sun doesn’t shine and a dumpster.

Wyoming cut through just then with a throat clearing, “Yes, well, as fascinating as this conversation no doubt is, we should best be getting a move on and all that.” He was glancing past them towards the rock wall and the lingering sounds of fighting going on, “They can’t really keep that up forever if you’re intending to use the Resistance fighters’ attack for cover.”

“Agreed.” Carolina nodded her head, “Let’s see if we can’t help even their odds a bit more from our end.”

The two former Freelancers were already heading towards the door, Gamma disappearing once again. Church trudged along behind them, gun at the ready but really hoping he wouldn’t have to use it anytime soon.

Hopefully, his more than apt plan of “ _staying behind Carolina while she deals with most of the combat shit and trying not to die in the meanwhile_ ” would still be applicable. Maybe even more so with Wyoming in the picture.

But, as they stepped over the two fallen soldiers in the hallway and Church glanced down at them, a rather unpleasant thought crossed his mind. He sort of figured it was best to mention it now instead of getting another surprise later on.

“Where’s the crazy one who shot me before?” He asked, curious and really kind of hoping she actually wasn’t anywhere close by, “Are you two still working together?”

Carolina glanced at Wyoming as well, apparently curious about that herself. It made sense really, considering the shit that her two former Freelancer teammates had put them through before.

Wyoming stiffened, and Church had the distinct impression he had been hoping that they wouldn’t have asked about Agent South Dakota at all.

“Things might get complicated with that one.” He let out a long suffering sigh, “Evidently she found out her brother is here.”

The two cousins exchanged looks, and Church could see the slight alarm building up in Carolina’s brain at that newfound knowledge.

Things were a shit-fest as they were, and there was a lot of stuff that could go horribly wrong in terms both their own actions and what the Resistance was planning to do. But, that kind of complication was definitely just guaranteed to make things worse.

It didn’t help their tension levels any when Wyoming added as they reached the lift leading down further into the more heavily guarded areas of the facility: “She went to go pay him a visit.”

*****

So far, there were no signs of Felix, Locus, or the white-armored Freelancer called Wyoming.

The Resistance leader had no doubt that all three were in the facility somewhere. They were probably staging an ambush to ensure maximum losses to their enemies before any of the Resistance’s differing groups ever made it anywhere close to the relic.

Vanessa Kimball preferred to deal with the kinds of issues those three mercenaries represented head-on, and sooner rather than later when applicable. In fact, that preference of hers was apparently one of the reasons she and Sarge got along so well when the older man had first joined the Resistance.

She’d had to say as much when she had given her speech earlier to mark the start of the assault, her stomach twisting into awful knots even as she tried to school her disposition to not let it be visible to everyone.

The knowledge that their leader could very well be sending all of the Resistance fighters on their way to die had been putting a heavy toll on her from well before they had even been in the planning stages for this assault, and it had grown to almost overwhelming proportions now.

But, she had to press forward. Kimball tried comforting herself with the fact that at least she wasn’t asking anyone to do anything she wasn’t more than willing to do herself.

Really, it didn’t provide much comfort at all. But, it helped her continue keeping up the appearance of being a leader. She knew she had to carry that image still throughout this mission until whatever end occurred, regardless of whether or not they were successful.

She hoped they would be.

While she hadn’t been too convinced she had done a good job with any of the lead up to the mission, Sarge had clapped her on the shoulder and Tucker had given her a thumbs-up after her speech. There had been several nods of approval from the various people who she was leading into something even more dangerous than anything they had ever experienced before.

She suspected it probably didn’t even matter if they had known she was also terrified and full of regret. All of them were too, after all.

Kimball just didn’t want to fail them.

That was pretty much the mindset that propelling her through her team’s assault on the main entrance of the facility. The Resistance leader focused on that to keep from thinking about anything else and losing focus on what they _needed_ to do, on what they had come here to stop.

Their team’s assault had the most enemy bodies in their way. The more Above Ground soldiers they drew out by being as loud and obvious in their attack as possible, the better for everyone else.

That meant the Reds and Blues would have less distractions and potential risks blocking them from making it inside. If those two teams could get in, the odds were doubled for one of them finding the relic.

The dark-haired fighter had lost count of how many people she had shot since they had started, everything from before the last-minute prepping at Sidewinder to the attack a blur.

That even included the contents of her actual speech, brief and succinct as it had been. Looking back now, she couldn’t recall a word of it with that bullets flying past her and the cries of enemies and allies alike filling her ears, despite clearly remembering the reactions to it from some of her friends and subordinates.

They were pressing forward. That was all that mattered currently. Her team had to make sure they were keeping up the attack and making headway to the front of the installation as Above Ground soldiers and Hargrove’s hired mercenaries swept in from all sides to try to block them.

York was laying fire in the rear with Delta’s assistance to keep their group from getting mowed down from attempted back attacks.

She and North, along with Theta, were supplying cover fire in all other directions to ensure none of the enemy forces were able to get too close and enclose them in.

Tex was using her weapons sparingly, preferring when applicable to barrel into any unlucky soldiers who tried being too cocky and who got too with enough force to send them almost comically flying through the air in sets of three or more.

The visual created by the redheaded Freelancer somewhat reminded Kimball of what she had heard about the pins in a game from Old Earth called bowling. If they weren’t in a life or death struggle at the moment, the imagery would have been rather laughter-inducing.

With just sheer force of will and persistence, their assault team had somehow managed to get to the main entrance despite the amount of fodder and people actively trying to kill them.

The heavy-looking double-doors were left wide open in a rather morbid display of hospitality.

Kimball frowned up at them, and she could almost picture Felix having something to do with the open invitation. Her thoughts on the possibility of the mercenaries planning an ambush felt almost confirmed as it was far too obvious a ploy.

Either the Resistance would be overly cautious and not go in, risking everything they had come here to do and jeopardizing the Slums even more, or they would go in regardless and Felix would get his chance to gloat before truly setting the trap off.

After all, the mercenary liked putting on a show, and he liked when people knew full-well that was exactly what he was doing too.

“That’s pretty nice of them.” York mused, exchanging a look with his two former Freelancer compatriots in particular.

From the tone of his voice and the way their body languages were both tense and amused, it was obvious they had the same thoughts as Kimball as to what the open doors meant.

She took in a deep breath, “It would be rude to keep them waiting, wouldn’t it?”

Tex nodded, cracking her knuckles, “Probably.”

The dark-skinned woman’s grip on her gun tightened slightly, “We wouldn’t want to be rude.” She muttered, “Let’s go.”

The Resistance leader took a step towards the doorway, the others following.

“North, look out!”

Suddenly, Theta was shouting, terrified, as a bullet just _barely_ missed the right side of North’s neck.

Instead, it hit the limp body of an Above Ground soldier he had taken out just a few minutes ago.

“That brat’s always given me trouble.” An unfamiliar voice to the Slums resident mused from farther away.

Looking towards the voice, the first thing she noticed was that on the ground there were three bodies of enemy combatants that none of their assault team had dealt with. Then Kimball registered that those corpses surrounded the newcomer in their midst as she lowered her weapon.

North tensed, both at the sight of the orchid armor with green trim and at the voice _he_ clearly recognized. York and Tex also seemed less than pleased by the sudden intrusion.

Agent South Dakota, however, seemed oddly relaxed and at ease as she regarded her twin.

The Freelancer didn’t even seem to notice the weaponry that was now trailed on her person as she nodded in a seemingly pleasant fashion in his direction, “Hello, brother. Long time no see, huh?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:** Finally, a new chapter update! XD
> 
> I apologize for the delay, especially considering this is more of a set-up chapter. Things had been hectic at work, and my beta reader had also been even more insanely swamped than usual the last few weeks so I postponed sending the chapter to her until her schedule had cleared up. Hopefully though there is a little bit in this chapter to entertain to make up for the wait. I should have some other writing out a bit quicker after this one. :)
> 
> Not really too much to talk about in this chapter necessarily as it’s more or less my attempt at getting to the Sidewinder battle a bit quicker. There were some much needed sibling reunions both between Kai and Grif, as well as North and South (no spoilers on how that is going to turn out! XD). Wyoming made a bit of a surprising turnaround. We also got to see some Tuckington and Grimmons moments, more of which will be showing up in future parts. The final fight will be coming in full force in the next chapter, so hopefully my action sequences will be up to snuff!
> 
> I hope this chapter was at least a bit enjoyable even with it being more of a set-up. As always, thank you so much for reading! :D


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Difficulties were to be expected, really. The Resistance had been prepared to walk into a battle that would not only determine all of their fates, but those of everyone they’d left behind in the Slums too.

Still, even with how painfully _tense_ things had been well before this moment, the sudden appearance of Agent South Dakota on the battlefield increased that sense tenfold. Vanessa Kimball found that despite the hard-earned battle to get close to the facility’s entrance, time seemed to slow to a crawl when the Above Grounder revealed herself.

They should have been expecting a swarm of enemy soldiers to come rolling down on top of them, taking advantage of the sudden standoff to retake the ground their comrades had lost in the fight to the death with Kimball, the three former Freelancers, and some other Resistance soldiers.

Many of whom, unfortunately, hadn’t made it quite as far as they had. Those that remained were cautiously holding back to assess the situation thanks to a quick hand gesture from Kimball.

Perhaps it was safe to make that four former Freelancers, given how South had dispatched one of their enemy soldiers so ruthlessly moments before making her presence known. Who knew if some of the other bodies littering the ground had been felled by her too? The chaos of the fight beforehand made it hard to discern exactly who had taken out who.

Though it wouldn’t shock the Resistance leader either if this whole scenario was all a ruse. A sacrifice here or there would be right up Felix’s alley in particular to sow confusion. For all any of them knew, the Above Ground military and mercenaries had snipers trained on them as they spoke.

“We’re clear.” Surprisingly, it was Theta who spoke just then as if reading Kimball’s thoughts, “There are enemies inside, but beyond some of the ones dealing with the other teams currently none are left outside the facility.”

“That’s a good thing.” North’s female twin sounded as if she was smirking within the confines of her helmet, “Wouldn’t want to have any interruptions now, would we?”

Regardless of the _very_ obvious tenseness this standoff was causing, and the no doubt pressing need for closure that North felt as well, the brutal fact remained that they did _not_ have time for any type of twin showdown that would detract from their mission.

“North.” Kimball stepped towards the violet with green trim-armored man, only to have the gun that his sister had been pointing at him suddenly swivel in her direction.

“There’ll be plenty of time to go on your fucking suicide mission after this, lady.” South sneered, “Don’t push it now.”

“Fucking drop it, South!” Tex’s gun was pointed at the other woman as well, her finger squeezing on the trigger threateningly.

The other two Freelancers and Kimball did the same.

“It’s four against one.” York called out to his former teammate, “Do you really think that puts the odds in your favor?”

She snorted, “Please. If I was seriously considering odds why the fuck would I have even come here knowing the shit that was about to take place?”

The group paused, momentarily glancing amongst themselves. That _did_ seem like a logical argument on the Above Grounder’s part. If South had really wanted to take them out, sniping from afar or simply seeing how the current situation played out would have been the safer bet.

“So then trying to shoot North just now was _what_ , exactly?” Tex questioned angrily instead.

A shrug, “Just my way of saying hello to my brother after so long.” There was a definite smile in South’s voice as she tilted her head slightly to the side to regard him and the always hovering close by Theta with amusement, “Figured he’d appreciate the humor.”

The reminder of what had happened the last time they had encountered one another didn’t seem to have any visible effect on North or, at least, none that they could discern due to his armor. In fact, he had remained silent throughout this entire encounter so far.

It did, however, have a very obvious effect on Theta as he whimpered and faded slightly at the memory, as well as on both York and Tex since they had nearly watched North die as a result of the last encounter between the Dakota twins.

“You bitch.” Tex growled out. Given the grip on the redhead’s weapon, it looked as if she was almost _twisting_ the hilt of the gun, which was nearly indestructible under most circumstances.

Adding to that image was York’s obvious clenching grip around his own gun’s hilt. It didn’t take more than a few seconds of observation for Kimball to be fairly certain that South was a second away from dying.

“Stop.”

It was the sudden sound of North’s quiet voice that prevented that from happening as all eyes quickly turned to him. The blond sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as though this conversation was definitely not one he had ever wanted to have.

“South.” He began again, sounding pained, “Why did you come here? Are you working for Hargrove?”

“Please. Apparently I wasn’t _‘good enough’_ to get the oh-so-exclusive-invite to that party either.” She scoffed once more, the bitterness in her body language practically seeping through her armor as she glared at her brother through her visor, “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“Feeling left out?” York tried joking, though he shut up the second she turned to look at him.

“That’s been the story since this whole shitfest began, hasn’t it?” South’s eyes went back to North, “My position kept getting usurped on the fucking ranking board. I was overlooked for an A.I., and then Wash fucked that up even more. Not to mention my own brother abandoned me to side with some _thing_.”

The Above Grounder’s directed glare at Tex just then was anything but subtle. The black-armored woman took a step forward. Kimball was surprised at the amount of control the redhead was displaying, but knew that it was probably more for North’s sake than anything else.

“C.T. left, and then fucking Wash and Carolina turned their backs on me. Then goddamned _Wyoming_ even left me in the dark too!” South was practically spitting when she finished her list of grievances.

“You know what’s _not even close_ to a remotely healthy way to deal with disappointment?” York replied back sarcastically, “Shooting people in the back and ripping implants from their necks. Some might call that _just a tad_ extreme even.”

“An anger management course _does_ seem like it would have proven beneficial for any long term success of the project.” Delta commented afterwards.

“Yeah. But, D, I don’t think the people who really needed it would have gone.” York fake-whispered, looking at the two female Freelancers in their midst in particular.

Perhaps fortunately for him, neither woman had their weapons trained on York just then.

South was too busy trying to keep eyes on all of them intermittently, and Tex was just focused solely on her.

“You _should_ have told me what was going on, what you planned to do!” South was back to regarding North again, “ _You_ of all people shouldn’t have left me behind!”

“Even if I had told you, would you have agreed to help?” North spoke up, his voice gentle but firm, “You were angry at the entire situation, South, and you wanted to prove yourself to the Director to get an A.I. next.”

“That’s beside the fucking point!” South yelled back angrily, “You didn’t have my back!”

“So you decided to shoot him in his.” Tex whistled, “Definitely extreme.”

“Shut up, bitch!” South glared at her, “You’re the one I want to pummel the most.”

Tex scoffed, holding up her free hand in way of a challenge, “I’d love to see you try.”

North intervened before the two of them actually did start trading blows, “So you’re not here to fight us. Then why exactly are you here, South?”

South shrugged, her body language suddenly going from angry to frustrated, “Fuck if I know, all right?” she said, “Maybe I just wanted the opportunity to steal your goddamned A.I., or payback Carolina or Tex. Maybe I just wanted to see if you could even walk still and rub it in your face if you couldn’t—!“

North surprised everyone by suddenly dropping his sniper rifle in the midst of his sister’s tirade, then walking the distance between him and South before pulling her into a hug.

South went deadly still and silent, her gun at her side. North’s former Freelancer teammates looking ready to run right in at the first sign of trouble.

“I’m sorry.” North was muttering in an almost rambling fashion, more to himself and South than anyone else, “I should have seen the signs earlier. I should have talked to you.”

“Still trying to act all high and mighty?” South scoffed but physically did nothing even as her arms twitched slightly at her sides like she had to fight the urge to either hug him back despite herself or shove him away completely, “You’re a goddamned idiot, North.”

“Probably.” He pulled away following that, “But that makes two of us if you came all this way just to vent.”

“I also came to steal your A.I., remember?” She smirked underneath her helmet, “Can’t do that if you get yourself blown up and he’s in your armor storage.”

“So you’ll be coming along too, then?” North asked as if this was just a typical conversation the two siblings might have and not one that was laced with a lot of unstated tension, negative emotions, and a whole lot of other things that weren’t being addressed.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” There was a mocking tone to his sister’s voice as she pointed her gun towards him again and added, “I’ve got your back, remember?”

“Thanks for the reminder.” The former Freelancer turned and went to retrieve his weapon again while she watched in obvious amusement, “Let’s get going then.”

“Are you fucking serious?!?” Tex and York both exclaimed at the exact same time, the disbelief they felt completely visible through their demeanors and tone.

Tex glared at South before continuing, “We can’t trust her.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I’m on the same page as Tex here, North.” York at least tried wording it a bit more delicately, “Having her around is asking for trouble.”

“You’re already walking into a shitload of it.” South remarked, lowering her weapon a fraction, “From how it looks to me, one more fighter could improve your odds.”

“Not when that particular fighter is a snake!” Tex hissed out angrily.

“It keeps you on your toes more.” South taunted, apparently getting a rise out of the reactions she was creating amidst her former teammates, “Unless you _really_ don’t think you could deal with me, Tex?”

“Only in your fucking dreams.” Tex glared again before pointedly turning her back to South in an open challenge for her to just try and do anything, “I’m _only_ doing this as a favor to North.”

York sighed and shook his head, but he apparently decided to follow Tex’s lead on the decision too. He fell in step behind South, however, much to her amusement.

North had fallen back after retrieving his gun, so Kimball waited for the blond since she had wanted to signal to their remaining allies that it was safe to catch up to them anyways.

“Are you sure about this, North?” Kimball asked quietly as they followed a little ways behind the others. Knowing what she knew about the Dakota siblings’ history, she couldn’t help but feel anxious over the situation.

Before responding to her question, North sadly watched his sister walking ahead of him with the other Above Grounders for a moment.

“She was right earlier, Kimball.” He said finally, shaking his head, “If South had come here to kill me, or any of us, she wouldn’t have made her presence known.” There was a pained note to his voice as he added, “She likes catching people familiar with her off-guard in combat situations.”

“But—!” Theta sounded nervous above his shoulder.

North cut through Theta’s doubt and smiled at him encouragingly, “It’s all right, Theta. I’m not going to let her harm any of us.”

But, Kimball knew the purple-armored soldier couldn’t bring himself to harm his sister either. Not unless he absolutely had to. The Resistance leader knew it because, even if he had been hurt by it, a part of him at least understood the reasoning behind South’s anger.

“What’s important right now is the mission.” North stated quietly, “I’ll figure out how to deal with South afterwards.”

Whatever the outcome, Kimball had a feeling it would be an emotional one for the former Freelancer. She did not envy him it, and could only hope he knew what he was doing in the end.

Right now, though, as they approached the base, he was right: they definitely had even more important matters to focus on. Kimball just hoped that the others had been productive within their roles of the plan while their group had been momentarily caught off-guard by a family reunion.

*****

Lavernius Tucker knew that Kimball’s plan was essentially to set up a main “distraction” force comprised of her, some of the Freelancers, and a few other Resistance troops. That distraction would, quite literally, “blow down” the front door while the Red and Blue Teams made their way inside the base using side-entrances.

Still, just because their color-coded teams waited a bit before running out into the fray did not equate to them having anything resembling an “easy” time of it.

Nope, of course not! There was no _fucking way_ that was going to happen.

The Slums Resident assumed that it had to do with the fact that their teams had smaller amounts of people and all that shit.

Yeah, they didn’t have to deal with the waves of enemies that had no doubt swarmed out to greet Kimball and the others, but it wasn’t like the Above Grounders or their hired mercenaries were stupid. They had, naturally, held back sizable portions of their troops from the main assault.

Their enemies had been probably banking on there being some kind of diversionary tactic, even if said distraction was too big to ignore.

Several of the enemy fighters had come outside to do perimeter checks just as the signal had been given for the attack to commence in earnest. No doubt even more were still waiting somewhere inside for whoever managed to get in there.

Fuck it! Knowing that dick Felix?

Well, it wouldn’t really shock Tucker any to find that he’d rigged the whole place to blow up and was just _waiting_ for all of them to step inside so that he could gloat or some other bullshit beforehand.

The only reason that thought wasn’t on the very top of Tucker’s “ _We’re Probably Really Screwed Here_ ” scenario list was that the Resistance _knew_ the relic was here, and it was likely in the type of condition that meant it couldn’t be moved quickly or easily. At least not without a shitload of precautions.

He imagined Felix’s employer would be more than just a little peeved if he got his shiny new, just-about-to-be-tested-for-the-giggles doomsday weapon blown up along with some more or less inconsequential Resistance fighters.

Which is why _they_ still had the chance to blow it up themselves beforehand. Provided they didn’t get killed or something first, of course.

The teal-armored soldier’s energy sword was just coming out of the other side of a mercenary that had been about to shoot him at close range when a gun went off _way_ to close to his helmet. Tucker pulled his sword out fully and spun around to face the new enemy combatant trying to kill him, only to stop short at _Palomo_ standing there instead.

“Palomo?!?” The Resistance fighter practically screeched _in a totally masculine way_ , “What the _actual fuck_?!?”

Before the younger man could respond, an Above Ground soldier in white crashed in an armored heap to the ground just a few meters away.

Tucker glanced at the body, surprised at how well-concealed they’d been behind a few free-standing crates. Evidently the Above Grounder had thought him skewering their more profit-minded comrade would have been a good surprise attack opportunity.

At that moment, the dark-skinned man supposed there probably _was_ something to the critique he was sometimes given that he could be a little _too_ focused in combat situations on just what was going on in front of him.

…Not that he’d ever let Wash or any of the other people who said it _know_ that. Tucker was thankful none of them were around close enough to have seen that particular example, actually.

“Sorry, sir!” Palomo shouted, “I saw him but didn’t have time to shout a warning.”

“It’s cool.” And Tucker honestly meant it given how that had probably kept him from getting a serious injury or even worse, “I just wish your bullet hadn’t gone _that_ close to my head.”

“Oh! Um, sorry again? I really thought you were going to turn right then instead of left like you did.” Palomo sounded both sheepish _and_ annoyingly cheerful as the younger soldier rubbed the back of his helmet awkwardly, “Guess it was a good thing I hadn’t waited an extra second before I shot, huh?”

“I fucking hate you, Palomo.” The moment with his well-intentioned but hopeless lieutenant officially over with at that revelation, Tucker sighed and relented enough at least to throw the poor kid a bone, “But thanks anyways.”

“No problem, sir!”

Just like that, Palomo was off and racing to go join up with Andersmith and Caboose. The two Blue Team members had set up a spot close-by the entrance point their group was aiming for, using their location to take out any Above Ground soldiers and mercenaries that tried approaching in order to keep a path open for—

“Tucker!”

It was C.T.’s voice that called out to him just then, interrupting his thoughts. He saw her racing over with both Sheila and Doctor Grey in tow.

Sheila didn’t seem _as_ upset by the bullets whizzing around them as one might expect a person to be, although that might have been because of the extra protection of her metallic body. It certainly made the chances of her receiving a ton of damage even if she was hit exceedingly less likely than any of her simply armored, human counterparts.

Doctor Grey seemed a little less relaxed, since as a medical officer she wasn’t as used to being shot at on a daily basis. But, she was doing pretty well, all things considered. Of course, having a nonplussed Freelancer around to help keep you safe was probably the best fucking insurance policy one could get in this type of situation.

“Ladies.” Tucker tried to play it cool but sort of figured the head tilt and eyebrow waggle he was doing at the moment was lost in this situation on account of his helmet, “How’s it hanging?”

“Well, we could be _these_ guys, so I guess we can’t complain too much!” Doctor Grey said cheerfully, kicking the body of the mercenary that Tucker had recently dispatched for added emphasis.

Yeah, not only was that a reminder to Tucker that Doctor Emily Grey might actually be _too_ fucking scary to flirt with, but he had a feeling all of his charm and wit were completely lost in this situation.

“Any word from Red Team?” The teal-armored soldier asked Sheila instead, knowing that the reason she had been separated from Lopez was because the two humanoid robots could communicate with one another even if most outside military channels around and inside the base comm-links were jammed.

The female robot gave him a slight nod, “They have already gained entry into the facility.”

He couldn’t help but whistle slightly, “Damn! Sarge is _really_ trying to show us up.”

If they were already inside, then that most likely meant that Kimball’s group was probably there by this point too.

Blue Team really couldn’t afford to be holding up the works much longer. Not only would that not be good for the overall plan, but they also had a reputation to uphold!

C.T. seemed to be thinking along similar lines as well, but probably not so much the reputation part, as she caught his gaze and gave a slight nod of her head, “Sheila and Doctor Grey think they can bypass the security on the door now if we buy them enough time.”

Which is what the others were trying to do by keeping the path clear.

“Right. Let’s get them there then.” Tucker nodded in reply and then turned his attention towards Caboose and the two lieutenants, “Keep the way cleared, we’re coming through!”

“Yes, sir!” Andersmith actually still took the time to salute, and the Resistance fighter couldn’t help but be reminded how much the older lieutenant was definitely crazy dedicated to protocol.

“Okay, Captain Tucker!” Palomo called back, and Tucker prayed the rookie didn’t mistake left for right and vice versa again.

“This will be just like when we play tag, Freckles!” Caboose informed his gun excitedly.

“AFFIRMATIVE, CABOOSE!”

Tucker nodded again to the three behind him now that they had gotten their cover fire established, “Let’s move!”

They were off. C.T. and Tucker stayed at the sides of the group to make short work of any enemy soldiers that popped up too close for the others to deal with while Sheila and Doctor Grey stayed close by them until the door was just a few steps in front.

At that point the two women, one a robot skilled in tech interfacing and the other a human genius, sped up and nearly collided into the door. Their attention automatically zeroed in on the locking mechanism for it.

“State of the art, as expected.” Doctor Grey was saying under her breath as she ran her fingers over the panel, “But it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to crack.”

“Indeed. Password clearance strength is surprisingly lacking in facilities such as this.” Sheila replied.

Doctor Grey snorted, “I know! At one base I was stationed at, it was literally _‘base_. _’_ No symbols or numbers or even capital letters.” She scoffed, shaking her head, “Then they get mad at _you_ for taking a peek at their files.”

“Humans are odd creatures when it comes to logic.” Sheila said, her tone sympathetic to Doctor Grey’s plight.

“You’re telling me.” The dark-skinned woman let out a long-suffering sigh, “Yet, when you point that out for research requests, you get looked at like you’re the crazy one.”

Tucker was a little glad his focus on the conversation happening behind him just then was lost a moment later on account of four Above Ground soldiers managing to break through Caboose’s and the others’ cover fire due to being just slightly out of range from their angle of entry into the scene.

Okay, were they fucking popping up from the ground like daisies now or what? The dark-skinned man hadn’t seen any doors or anything opening anywhere else along the sides of facility that would have allowed the enemies to just show up like they were.

He raced forward to take out one of them, C.T. deftly dispatching a second one while remaining close by the others to continue guarding their backs as they worked. She turned her gun to the third just as Tucker used his sword, the two grinning at one another through their helmets at the joint effort.

That just left the fourth asshole, who…

…was suddenly on the ground face-first in the snow.

Tucker blinked, surprised to see two familiar figures standing over the body.

“Miss me, bitches?” Kai joked, while Washington just sighed next to her at her juvenile remark.

He had almost forgotten that the two of them had swung around from yet another angle during the initial assault in order to get the drop on some mercenaries who would have probably been trouble later on down the road if they’d just ignored them completely. The steel and yellow-armored Freelancer had insisted that everyone else still carry through with the original plan just to make sure it stayed on track.

“We had a few stragglers that managed to get away from us once they realized what we were up to.” Wash said in way of explanation for what had happened here, dipping his head slightly in apology, “Sorry for the added stress.”

“Like this whole thing isn’t already stressful enough? I’m pretty sure four mercenaries thrown into the mix doesn’t even amount to jack shit.” Tucker joked back, “Dude, you really need to lay off the self-blame game.”

“Right.”

Call Tucker crazy, but he could have sworn that Wash _almost_ sounded relieved. Must have been a trick of the ears.

Or, in all likelihood, the Slums dweller just _really_ wanted to think that since he’d been prepared for the stubborn agent to argue more about how everything under the sun was somehow his fault.

Kai shoved Wash playfully in the back just then, nearly throwing the blond so off-balance that he almost would have crashed into the teal-armored fighter in front of him if he hadn’t managed to recollect himself at the last second “Tucker’s right! For a cop you’re really not all that bad.”

Tucker paused at her comment to Wash just then, frowning. He could have sworn Kai had mentioned something about Tucker having a cop boyfriend before.

Had she been talking about _Washington_ of all people?

“T—thanks, I guess?” Wash wasn’t quite sure how to react to the girl’s remark, and Tucker was just glad that he had spoken up at all because _fuck_ if he needed to be dwelling on the odd heart-skip his chest just had, “But I keep telling you: I’m not a cop.”

“If you say so.” Kai shrugged, clearly not convinced, “You sure act like one though.”

“How do I…?” The Above Grounder trailed off, gesturing helplessly to Tucker and C.T. while clearly not sure what he should do at this point.

Tucker was about to give the poor guy his usual advice of _“best just to roll with it”_ when it came to the tan girl’s antics, but the Freelancer turned completely serious a second later. It was as if his brain once again registered just what was going on around them after the momentary mind-break effect Kaikaina Grif often had on people.

“How are things here?” Wash asked, noticing Caboose and the others still behind their crate cover, as well as the bodies littering the ground everywhere.

“Getting better by the second.” Tucker remarked, “You guys picked a great time to regroup with us.”

As if on cue, the door behind them opened with an excited exclamation from Doctor Grey. As both she and Sheila nodded to one another for a job well done, the teal-armored fighter called the others over to join them. Tucker couldn’t help but notice that Wash looked over the whole of Blue Team as they did so, the older man’s body language on full alert and absolutely serious.

“It’s way too quiet out here now, which means…” The Freelancer trailed off as he glanced around the suddenly completely still battlefield once more.

“That there are most likely even more people waiting for us inside somewhere.” C.T. finished for her former Freelancer comrade.

Wash nodded his agreement at her prediction, “Right. So, let’s be prepared for whatever we find.”

“Trust me, you _don’t_ have to tell us twice.” Tucker remarked as they stepped inside the deceptively still and silent corridor leading further into the military base.

Every single member of their team knew what was stake here, and they damn well knew that anyone who was lying in wait to try to stop them did too.

But, _they_ sure as fuck weren’t going to just give up or roll over on account of what may or may not happen here. They couldn’t. Not with everything that was on the line.

Tucker also knew that anyone who tried messing with them given that was going to regret it _really_ fast.

*****

If there was one thing that could be viewed as a positive for being in actual combat situations, aside from the very blatantly obvious negative things such as potentially getting killed, Richard “Dick” Simmons supposed it was that events tended to happen _fast_.

Like mind-blowingly, _fucking_ fast.

Which was probably a good thing considering that if he’d had more of a chance to dwell and process what it was they were actually doing, the odds were good he’d make a shitload of mistakes and mess things up. Also, he’d probably puke just for good measure.

The redhead was fairly certain he would be doing that last thing regardless the second that Red Team made it inside the base following their sneak attack.

As the door closed to the outside, conveniently shielding the bodies of the enemy soldiers they’d encountered on their way here and the red snow they were lying in now, Simmons took a moment to breathe deeply through his helmet. The cyborg didn’t even try mentally correcting himself on the whole “not having lungs” thing anymore.

In a way, it was probably good that Grif hadn’t come with them and was guarding the air transport with Junior and Doyle. Even though it was pointlessly stupid of the orange-armored man to be there at all, at least hopefully on the transport he wouldn’t be pushing himself too hard if things went as planned.

Sarge definitely had them going full-on sprint and attack mode out there, so the Above Grounder could just imagine the chubbier man collapsing on the ground in an asthmatic fit right about now even without taking into account his injuries.

Truthfully, Simmons was pretty winded with just now having gotten inside. From the looks of things, everyone else save Sarge and the robotic Lopez seemed to be having a similar experience.

“All right, excellent work!” Sarge nodded to the assembled soldiers appreciatively once the older soldier had felt he had provided them all with ample time to recover, “I bet you we beat Blue Team inside in no time flat!”

Nearby, Volleyball was helping Jensen get to breathing calmly again. Simmons had been glancing at the two a little worriedly when he heard the younger girl mention that she had asthma, though thankfully Doc had apparently picked up on it too. His purple-armored friend went over to chat with the two girls and the Above Grounder was relieved to see that the maroon-trimmed lieutenant seemed to gradually be getting steadier on her feet.

Donut had perked up quite a bit from his spot next to Simmons, glancing over at Doc to make sure that he was okay as the medic took care of any lingering concerns with Jensen before trotting over to say something to Lopez. The robot seemed more or less content to at least listen to whatever Donut was cheerfully rambling to him. That, or he was just really good at tuning out the dirty-blond by this point. Simmons wasn’t quite sure which one it was yet.

“It wasn’t really a competition.” The orange-trimmed lieutenant named Bitters remarked to Sarge as he regained his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, it looked to Simmons as if Matthews was going to admonish the multicolored-haired lieutenant for that comment from where he stood next to him. Apparently, the yellow-trimmed lieutenant was not the type to like it when he suspected someone was smart-mouthing superiors.

The auburn-haired rookie instead simply touched Bitters shoulder though, causing Bitters to glance over at him and let out a resigned sigh before turning to Sarge and, before the older soldier could remark on his not-too-respectful comment, the lieutenant added in a quick “ _Sir._ ”

Matthews looked at Bitters gratefully, and any real anger or annoyance Sarge may have felt at Bitters’ earlier comment seemed to fade completely with the lieutenant’s recent address.

Instead, the leader of Red Team sighed and shook his head in sympathy at the young man, “You have got to learn to live a little more, Dye Job.” He admonished, “It is _always_ a competition where the color blue is concerned!”

Sarge then turned to address Simmons before Bitters could respond, “You had a good long look at the layout of this place, right?” He asked the cyborg, back to being completely serious, “Which way do we go from here?”

“Oh! Um…” Simmons blinked, his brain needing a few minutes to process the sudden question thrown his way in light of what they had just gone through, “The stairwell to the lower levels should be to the right of here.”

“It’s too bad we can’t just ride down in a lift even though it might be riskier.” Donut quipped then, rejoining the rest of the group with Lopez, “Going down into a large hole is always exciting!”

“Oh, especially if there’s a scenic view!” Doc chimed in, apparently not even registering the potential other meanings Donut’s wording could bring to mind.

From behind the two men, Simmons could see the four lieutenants in their midst exchange questioning glances with one another. Obviously, the conversation’s oddness was not as lost on them as it was on his pink bespectacled friend.

Nor did it seem to be entirely lost on Lopez either despite the robot not being able to respond back in a language any of them could understand. The brown-armored robot let out what seemed to be an electronic sigh as he turned his body towards Simmons and the younger members of the group.

“Es mejor para sintonizar hacia fuera si puedes. Confía en mí. Me siento bastante malo para usted que no se puede simplemente apagar su audiencia como puedo.” _{“It's best to tune it out if you can. Trust me. I feel rather bad for you that you can't just turn off your hearing like I can.”}_

Donut directed his attention to his robotic teammate just then and nodded his head enthusiastically, “Lopez is right, you guys! It’s time for some action!”

Sarge stood a bit taller, looking over at his creation appreciatively, “I agree, Lopez. You’re becoming such a go-getter, it makes me just as proud as the day when you first walked!”

Lopez looked towards the others again.

“Seriamente. Es la única cosa que me recibe a través de algunos días.” _{“Seriously. It is the only thing that gets me through some days.”}_

With whatever life lesson it seemed that the robot had been trying to instill into the younger recruits in particular over with following that remark, Red Team moved on through the base.

Sarge also requested that Lopez send to Sheila an electronic communication update to Blue Team about their status. Not only just to keep them informed of their progress and to get an update in turn, but also apparently for “ _rubbing-it-in-their-Blue-Team-faces_ ” purposes.

The Red Team met with some resistance the lower they progressed through the facility, but it wasn’t nearly as much as Simmons or the others had been anticipating.

It was usually a guard or unwary soldier here or there. At times it would be the occasional group of three or five mercenaries trying to stage a poorly planned ambush in a corridor or room they had tried gathering intel on.

Perhaps that was sign that the distraction plans had worked. Or, perhaps it was more likely a sign that something else was going on here that wouldn’t have a good outcome for any of the Resistance soldiers.

“It means they’re planning something else for their big stage attack.” Sarge muttered out loud when Simmons commented on it, “Either we’ll be encountering more firepower our way later on down the road, or one of our other groups will be dealing with even nastier surprises.”

“That’s not good!” Donut remarked back in a horrified whisper.

“Stay on your toes. If you don’t go rushing out somewhere waving a gun around before we know what’s going on, you’ll be fine.” The older man reassured them, “So will the others too, no matter what these lowlifes throw our way!”

“Isn’t rushing out somewhere waving a gun around before we know what’s going on your main battle plan usually?” Bitters asked incredulously.

Sarge scoffed, a chuckle in his throat, “Son, the main difference is that when _I_ do it, it is dang cool!”

They did end up meeting with more enemy resistance eventually. It happened right about the time when they were reaching the facility level that Church, back when they all had first been going over the blueprints of the Sidewinder base, had been pretty certain would contain the research labs.

In the center of the main hallway their team found a fortified door, heavily guarded by at least ten Above Ground soldiers.

True to the Red Team leader’s earlier statement, Sarge actually _did_ look pretty cool charging in with his shotgun a second after they had stumbled upon the scene, an attack shout reverberating from within his helmet to anyone within listening distance.

Jensen, Simmons, and Lopez were at the control lock while the others dealt more with the soldiers, alternating at taking a crack at the digital lock between the three of them while occasionally turning around themselves to help provide cover fire.

With all three soldiers working together, the door was opened in a matter of seconds just as a well-thrown grenade and one final shotgun blast cleared out the corridor of the last hostiles.

Their group spilled inside a second later, the door shutting behind them to hopefully buy them at least a little time if more guards came on the scene and saw their downed comrades outside. As Simmons finished locking the door, he noticed an odd pulsing pressure in his skull that was radiating from his cybernetic eye.

The cyborg suppressed a groan and turned around, immediately bombarded with the aura of every piece of tech in the large space. All of them were on, their mechanical and electronic noises a soft buzz in his ears. The energy they radiated was quite a bit more than the Above Grounder was used to seeing in most everyday situations, even with the high amount of tech he usually encountered.

The closest thing he could think of for it was when he looked at Sheila, Lopez, Freckles, Church, or one of the Fragments. Or Tex too, now that he thought about it, though he was too scared of her to ever ask why.

Still, the digital presences they emitted were so strong it was always a much more noticeable thing with them. With most other electronic devices, like a datapad, the sight variation in his artificial eye was easily overlooked and compensated for.

But, he supposed his current reaction made sense. Simmons was always more aware of that whenever he was in a space with an abundance of technology that was left active. Since this _was_ a research and weapons lab, that was pretty much a given. A few minutes acclimating and the maroon-armored soldier would be as good as new.

Still, it was easy enough for him to discern which piece here was the relic they were looking for.

The orb in question was glowing with barely contained energy in the middle of the large lab even _through_ his human eye, and it was downright comparable to looking directly at the sun with how strong its aura was through his cybernetic one. Reactively, his green eye was tearing up and he could feel his artificial red-tinted one burning with the desire to do the same.

Simmons hated having to fight the urge to bring his fingers to his helmet since he knew any effort to rub at them would be moot. Instead, the redhead shook his head and averted his gaze until his sight adjusted to all the information it was being bombarded with.

“Well, it definitely looks like they got it activated.” Doc spoke up just then at the sight of the relic, sounding understandably nervous at the prospect of what that meant.

“That just means it will make an even bigger explosion when _we_ blow it up.” Sarge seemed downright eager at the prospect.

“It’s too bad Caboose isn’t closer by. He and Freckles sure do love their fireworks!” Donut commented gleefully.

Jensen looked at the relic thoughtfully, “Something tells me they’ll definitely be seeing these ones no matter how far away they are, Captain Donut.”

“Yeah, something tells me we are going to want to run as fast as we _fucking can_ once we set up the charges.” Bitters muttered from behind her.

It was definitely not a statement anyone there could argue with, especially considering the amount of area said run would require.

The only other room dedicated solely to research that Simmons had seen that was as huge as the one Red Team was currently in was the underground compartment of that Freelancer hideout he and Doc had gone to with their Above Ground team, along with some of the higher security clearance labs at the Mother of Invention.

Basically, instead of just being one hell of a state-of-the-art laboratory and massively huge room? This area was also filled to the brim with devices that, beyond probably being capable of hurting or killing a whole bunch of people, Simmons couldn’t even guess the uses of.

The only other thing of note about the space besides the fact that it contained the very artifact that they were there to destroy were the handful of dead bodies littering the ground that appeared to have been dispatched at least an hour or more ago.

Simmons noted that none of the corpses were dressed in armor. Rather they appeared to be in research garb, and all of them had apparent gunshot wounds on their persons.

“Whoa!” Donut whispered as everyone’s attention turned that way as well, looking nervously at the bodies and the pools of blood congealing under them, “What do you think happened here?”

“I did.”

From the back of the room, another plains-clothed, albeit sharply dressed, man stepped forward from his spot by a smaller door. Despite the man’s lack of armor, there was a gun in his hand, the sight of which caused an automatic response from everyone present as they trained their weapons on him.

The man with graying hair glanced down at his weapon then, as if just now registering their reaction to it, “It’s no longer loaded.” He remarked with an odd drawl in his voice, throwing it to the ground with disinterest, “I never did have great aim.”

Red Team didn’t lower their weapons, but they hadn’t fired after his confession to killing the other researchers and it seemed that the man took that as his cue to continue as he looked at them askance from beneath his glasses, “From the look of things, I take it you aren’t working for Hargrove?”

“We’re with the Resistance, actually.” Sarge was looking over the unidentified man critically, “Mind telling us who you are?”

The unknown, although vaguely familiar, man opened his mouth to respond. But, an all-too familiar and bitter-sounding voice beat him to it as the lock Simmons had put on the door was overridden.

“He’s a _fucking asshole_ is who he is.” Leonard Church stated emphatically from where he stood behind them with Agents Carolina and Wyoming, “Who just so happens to also be the goddamned Director of Project Freelancer.”

Simmons and Doc in particular looked at the man in shock just then. As members of Above Ground military they’d seen him once or twice over the years from a distance, but this was the first time they’d ever been this close to him in person, let alone heard him speak.

It was no wonder that Simmons hadn’t been quite able to place who he was before. However, the Director seemed completely unfazed by Church’s declaration of his identity, or of anyone else’s reaction to it.

Instead, the Above Grounder’s full attention was placed entirely on the armored individuals in cyan and cobalt. Both of whom were just as completely focused on him as well. It seemed a world of communication passed between all of them, a world that no one else in the room could probably ever hope to understand fully.

“Hello, Carolina. Alpha.” The Director tilted his head towards them slightly as if in a slight show of greeting, “I was expecting the two of you to show up sooner or later.”

*****

“Okay. So, if Red Team’s job is to scour the lower levels of the base, we’re taking the upper ones, right?” Palomo whispered from close by as they made their way through the far-too quiet corridors.

“That’s correct.” Washington responded from his spot close by Tucker’s elbow as the teal-armored soldier, Wash, and C.T. had moved to the front of Blue Team in case there were any ambushes they would have to deal with immediately, “Even though, from what we could tell at any rate, the research and weapon labs _are_ more likely to be located lower due to the building’s layout.”

“There’s always the possibility that they decided to mix things up just because that was what everyone expected them to do. Because, you know, they’re assholes and all.” Tucker pointed out before Palomo could question the Freelancer further.

“Besides, having Resistance troops still wandering all of the levels and causing havoc regardless will cause the enemy to stay on their toes and make it harder for them to figure out what we’re really doing.” C.T. added in afterwards.

Distractions and delay tactics were definitely the main focus of the Resistance’s current strategy. In a lot of ways, it was a several-point distraction plan.

“Not to mention, even _if_ the schematics were correct and the weapon labs are located further down, all communication and file transfers still flow through a relay check point in the upper levels of the base.” Sheila spoke up just then, as if feeling the need to provide a logical standpoint to their current status.

“I see, I see.” Palomo nodded exuberantly at the robot’s explanation before a slight quiver went into his voice, “Which means _what_ , exactly? Because I don’t think Kaikaina or Andersmith got that before.”

Tucker could easily picture the blank look on the dark-haired kid’s face when he said that obvious cover-up, and inwardly sighed.

“Speak for yourself, moron!” Kai was no doubt sticking her tongue out in her friend’s direction.

“Ah, no need to worry about that, Palomo! I had an in-depth talk with Captain Caboose and C.T. about that earlier.” Andersmith assured his younger comrade.

“Yes, because it is not the type of relay that you race.” Caboose stated very seriously, nodding his head in a sage-like fashion.

“Exactly, sir!” Andersmith was no doubt beaming at his superior for his apt description.

“Um, never mind then.” Palomo’s shoulders shrugged dejectedly, apparently realizing that his attempt to save face on this matter probably just meant he’d end up remaining not as knowledgeable about what it was they were exactly doing.

Fortunately for the rookie, everyone had very clearly seen through the Slums dweller’s ruse since he wasn’t nearly as subtle with it as he thought.

“It means that if we make a copy of all of their transmitted files and communications before this whole place goes ‘ _boom!_ ’ and the Chairman scrambles whatever intel is left on his end to cover his tracks, we’ll still have enough information to expose what he was up to all over Above Ground!” Doctor Grey exclaimed cheerfully to Palomo, apparently having taken pity on the poor kid.

“Which should force the Council to take immediate action against Hargrove as well.” C.T. added in.

It would also provide Doyle the information he would need to hopefully get the stuffy assholes who comprised the Council to push for a ceasefire on all hostilities with the Slums to boot. At least, that’s what Kimball believed given what C.T. and the others had told the Resistance before about the Chairman possibly having set up the Insurrection in order to ensure that the fighting amongst the two factions would escalate.

Not to mention, Tucker doubted most of the Council, regardless of their thoughts on the Slums, would be too keen to support full-blown genocide like Hargrove was planning. Particularly since Hargrove was obviously planning on using what would happen to the Slums as a show of power to get them to comply with his governmental decisions on how to run things in Above Ground.

So, Blue Team’s part of the plan wasn’t nearly as potentially pointless as one might think at first based off of what they knew about the base’s layout.

The explanation seemed to at least somewhat sink in with Palomo, who gave a quick “ _Gotcha!_ ” as he nodded his head enthusiastically before quieting down once more.

They made their way through several hallways of immaculately clean, sterile environments filled with shiny new tech and a disturbing amount of weaponry. No surprise there, the dark-skinned man supposed, considering that this was a top-secret military base that was involved in a shitload of weapons research in general.

The group took stairs instead of lifts whenever necessary in order to avoid getting stuck like they had a bullseye on their backs. Of course, lifts sometimes had to be used out of necessity in certain situations. But, Tucker also knew in situations like this, when they weren’t sure about potential ambushes, that at least a stairwell provided them the chance to get to another level quickly if needed without being confined in one spot like a bunch of sardines in a can.

Ambushes were definitely a possibility given how quiet things were at the moment. The odds were high that, at some point, they might round a corner only to find a shitload of mercenaries ready to open fire.

Currently everything was still eerily, creepily quiet no matter how far up they went in the base. Beyond the random armored figure here or there who just happened to step into their line of fire with what appeared to be extreme suicidal intent, one thing in particular was _really_ obvious about the whole situation.

“This place is _way_ too fucking quiet given what we just did.” Tucker muttered under his breath, “I mean, yeah, we tried keeping the attack a surprise and all. But, unless their great strategy was ‘ _everybody step outside and we’ll lock all the doors_ ’, this has got to a trap.”

“Most likely.” Wash conceded, no doubt frowning underneath his helmet. Of course, Tucker suspected that was the Above Grounder’s default facial expression a lot of the time anyways. So, there was nothing to worry about in that regard at least.

“They probably moved most of their soldiers to guard the relic.” Andersmith surmised, adding in worriedly, “I hope that means Red Team will be okay.”

“Lopez says that they haven’t experienced much difficulty yet either.” Sheila informed them, “Though that is troubling in a way as well.”

“Which could mean that a large chunk of their troops are focusing their attention now on Kimball’s group because they were the first wave of the assault.” C.T. said, sighing at the possibility, “Although we currently aren’t in the best position to know that since they don’t have a V.I. with them to help bypass the base’s jamming frequencies.”

Yeah, in theory the A.I. Fragments could be used to send messages amongst the groups. The Resistance definitely had planned on them doing so should the need arise.

Still, given how intense the fighting to reach the main entrance by charging the front door had probably been for Kimball and the others well before either of the other two teams had been allowed to make their moves, Delta and Theta would probably have their hands full offering combat and defense support.

The two A.I. Fragments probably wouldn’t be in a position yet to carry status updates of their group to everyone else in the Resistance at the moment. Which definitely sucked in more ways than one.

As if sensing the spiking anxiety levels quickly falling over the group, Wash sighed loudly to attract all of their attention before assuring them: “At any rate, we’ll be meeting up with them soon once we’re done here.”

That commentary was enough at the moment to get everyone to push on. The group gave the blond a collective nod of agreement in the process, as Tucker cast an appreciative glance at the Freelancer for the impromptu pep talk. Wash held the look with the teal-armored soldier for a second before turning his head awkwardly away in what was probably shy embarrassment.

Yeah, Tucker thought. Wash was right. Everyone was going to be fine. They were going to stop the relic, get the information to halt that asshole Hargrove’s plan, and blow up this base for good measure. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On what was the thirty-fifth floor of the facility, Blue Team stopped in front of a non-descript metallic door. The only thing of note about it was a flashing electronic sign next to the lock pad that read _“No unauthorized personnel beyond this point_. _”_

“This is it.” C.T. was looking at the layout of the building on her armor system, touching some buttons on her lower arm as she did so to scroll through whatever was showing up on the display screen of her helmet.

Sheila and Doctor Grey both moved forward just then, approaching the lock pad at the exact same time. The door opened a few seconds later as the two worked in tandem. It revealed what, to Tucker’s eyes, looked like a pretty average office space compared to all of the other rooms they had passed on their way here, what with all of their imposing terrain maps on full display and a shitload of artillery.

Computers and more computers. That was all this room had in it. Some of the monitors seemed to show images of areas around or inside the base. But, most of the other active screens just seemed to be flowing through a whole bunch of random numbers at an impossibly quick pace. Tucker was sure that the data meant something, but to him it might as well have been gibberish.

However, Doctor Grey let out an excited squeal at the sight, moving to one of the monitors that seemed to be currently vomiting out a shitload of information at a high rate on its screen. Sheila and C.T. joined suit, as Caboose and the three lieutenants stood watch at the open doorway. The dark-skinned man wondered if they were thinking along the same lines as he was about the room and the contents inside.

Given the reactions from the tech geniuses of their group and the screen they were currently gravitating towards, Tucker felt safe in assuming that that particular terminal was the one connected to the relay.

“How quickly can you do a data transfer?” C.T. questioned as Sheila pulled a wire out of her upper right arm and plugged it into the terminal that Doctor Grey had been gushing over.

“We’re already starting it.” Doctor Grey was tapping buttons on the control panel’s smooth surface, humming excitedly as she worked, “Without one of the A.I. being here to help us it should take ten minutes, maybe?” She looked at Sheila who nodded her head to indicate that the dark-skinned woman’s assessment was accurate, “It does look like there is a _lot_ to transfer.”

Ten minutes didn’t seem too bad given that, but Tucker also knew that they were on something of a time crunch.

C.T. glanced at Wash with a frown no doubt on her face, “I don’t know if we’ll have that long.” She stated, voicing what Tucker had been thinking.

Tucker piped up just then, feeling like they should at least _try_ to look for some silver lining considering they’d actually gotten to the damn room without being killed, which was a pretty big plus in his book, “Eh, we’ll just have to try and wing it.”

Wash said nothing for a long while, having moved to stand behind C.T. and the other two females at the terminal along with Tucker. The blond seemed to be debating something as he watched the information flashing along the screen, before finally sighing and turning to face his childhood friend as she stood doing the same.

“Connie, about what’s most likely in this data?”

Oh, right.

Tucker had forgotten that Wash, along with the other Above Grounders who had been working with Church and Carolina, actually knew a little bit more about all of this information on account of some intel-gathering mission they had gone on right around the time that the Resistance had made it up to the planet’s surface.

Tucker didn’t know all of the exact details on what had gone down with that mission, but he knew it had helped supply them with this base as the location of the relic and its general layout. Also that it had eventually gotten Theta back to North, and that it somehow revealed that Church was some kind of ghostly A.I. thing just like Theta and Delta were.

What the Slums dweller had been more interested in at the time was that the mission had given them the intel they’d needed to rescue his friend and his son, so he hadn’t really been paying as much attention to anything else about it back then.

C.T. continued to glance over at Wash, “If you’re worried I’ll just be finding out about Hargrove’s hand in what happened with Maine and Florida, don’t worry.” She smirked, “I’d already put that information together well before now, as had Tex and the others.”

Tucker frowned, knowing there was probably more to that story than either of the two childhood friends felt comfortable saying out loud amongst people who weren’t that much involved. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he did see Sheila glance questioningly at C.T.’s mention of whoever “Florida” was. However, the robot was too polite and too preoccupied with the data transfer herself to really interrupt the private discussion between the two Above Grounders over it.

Besides, the teal-armored soldier knew in general that Freelancer talk probably wasn’t any of his business. Still, he couldn’t help being curious anyways. Namely since C.T. was a friend and teammate, and the same could definitely be said for Wash now.

Fuck, if Tucker was being honest with himself, he kind of would just like to know more about Wash’s past in general to sate his own curiosity, even if he wasn’t quite sure _why_ yet.

Actually, he found it interesting that Wash didn’t seem at all surprised by C.T.’s statement.

Instead, the blond steeled himself to softly ask his childhood friend what appeared to be yet another uncomfortable question, “And what about _him_?”

From the way Wash asked, it was as if he hadn’t been sure he wanted to bring it up at all. Judging by the sudden stiffness overcoming C.T.’s posture as she let loose a sharp intake of breath, that question was apparently a loaded and very _fucking_ personal one.

Given what Tucker knew about C.T.’s past, he could take a guess as to who the “ _him_ ” in the question was referring to.

The leader of the Insurrection.

He was someone C.T. had been very well acquainted with before everything had pretty much gone to hell, back before the Insurrectionist Leader had been killed trying to gain better conditions for the Slums. Tragically and upsettingly, that well-intentioned move by the Insurrection ended up ultimately making things about fifty times worse for everyone.

“Hargrove played the Insurrection in order to start up the conflict between the Slums and Above Ground again. Yes, I knew.” The brunette’s voice was oddly flat and steady as she took in a deep breath, turning away from Wash with body language that spoke volumes, “Let’s just focus on making sure we get the proof of all of that now.”

Everything about C.T.’s demeanor at the moment screamed hurt and sadness, still raw enough that Tucker could easily recognize it from his own when he thought about people he had cared about who he had lost. Suddenly he wanted to buy his teammate a damn drink to toast to memories and all that shit, because sometimes you just needed to do that with friends when reminded of that sort of loss.

“Right.” Wash looked at his friend apologetically, and turned away himself.

 _Fuck it_! If they all got back in one piece, Tucker was going to buy both Freelancers drinks in light of their renewed friendship given everything they had to overcome. One big old toast to everything and everyone that had been lost.

Then he was totally going to try to outdrink Wash again, because that last time hadn’t been fair at all!

At least getting a copy of the information that had been sent and stored to this base on all of Hargrove’s crimes would be a lot easier to use as evidence than what was in Church’s head now, given apparent memory complications due to someone named Epsilon.

Tucker hadn’t gotten the whole story on that either, as Church had decided telling people to back off whenever asked about it and giving them the finger for good measure was some kind of genius delaying tactic. Still, that would have been another option at least, provided if the asshole ever showed up again given how he and Carolina had disappeared earlier.

Waiting in uneasy silence following that awkward trip down uncomfortable Freelancer memory lane, Tucker’s thoughts went back to Junior. _Fuck_ , he really hoped that the air transport stayed hidden for as long as they were stuck here doing all of this.

His grip on his sword tightened somewhat. As an alien weapon, it served as a constant reminder of his son. Tucker had practically slept gripping the fucking thing the whole time that Junior had been held captive.

He breathed in and out deeply to try to steady himself and refocus his thoughts again on what they were doing here. Wash seemed to notice the change in his demeanor and, upon glancing at his sword hand, seemed to somehow even know exactly who was on Tucker’s mind just then.

A gloved hand clasped his shoulder reassuringly, the gesture not nearly as awkward as it had been whenever Wash attempted it in the past, and Tucker wasn’t sure when he had paid attention to that change or even when exactly it had started to occur, “He’ll be _fine_ , Tucker. We all will.”

The Resistance fighter was surprised at how adamant Wash sounded. He blinked, grateful and taken aback all at the same time, “Yeah, but—“

“We’re done!” Doctor Grey announced excitedly, clapping her hands together for added emphasis as Sheila pulled her wire out of the computer terminal.

A bullet flew past the two of them just then, embedding into the machine and sending sparks flying everywhere.

C.T. swore and turned towards where the attack had come from as everyone else did the same.

Wash actually stepped in _front_ of Tucker, which was stupid and annoying in a way given the teal-armored fighter would need to be upfront in order to use his sword. You would think a badass super-soldier type would know that.

There was a shimmer in the air by the left wall of the room. Suddenly Locus came into view, his gun still aimed at the group crowded around the now smoking terminal as if in preparation for taking another shot.

“Good.” The steel-and-green armored mercenary remarked in response to the doctor’s earlier exclamation, “That makes things easier on my end.”

*****

The door to the back workroom closed with such finality behind them that Church pretty much felt it spoke volumes about the situation they were currently in and of itself. The A.I. remained silent, waiting to see how things would play out.

Church felt bad about not letting the others know what was going on exactly. _Fuck_ , he couldn’t even bring himself to really look at Simmons’ and Doc’s questioning glances as both he and Carolina followed the Director out of the main lab.

The Above Grounder knew that he probably owed both them and Sheila in particular a lot of answers given that he hadn’t exactly told them before why he and Carolina had sent them away, or what they would were going to be doing during that time.

But, Church imagined even if they understood it to a degree, the idea of the two of them going on a revenge quest wouldn’t have been something his team would be eager to allow. Basically because they were way-too-nice for their own good idiots sometimes.

Leaving them and Red Team with Wyoming was probably going to be really fucking awkward too given Wyoming’s history with the Resistance. Surprisingly, apparently a bit more than anyone had actually known with Sarge due to the red-armored man’s friendship with Captain Flowers. Seriously, shit like that reminded Church that this really was a fucking small world.

But, _fuck it_! This was something that was a private matter. Explanations could be given later. Maybe.

If he ever felt like it.

Besides, it wasn’t like his team didn’t have their own reason for being here and their own preparations to still get done.

It was a giant huge coincidence that the Director happened to be in the vicinity of the relic. Though they had been prepared to blow the shit out of the recently activated doomsday weapon if they came across it before the Resistance fighters had.

But, since they’d gotten there at roughly the same time, it looked like Red Team could handle that part while Carolina and Church had a long overdue meeting with a man that the Above Grounder wasn’t entirely sure he even _wanted_ to be in the same room with for longer than two seconds.

The only thing that made the situation remotely palpable was knowing that the Director wasn’t going to be leaving this room at all following it, even if Church wasn’t sure why that didn’t exactly have him jumping for joy either.

He supposed Doc would tell him something about how that was because violence and revenge weren’t the answers. But, quite frankly, there weren’t any answers that would remotely be justifiable for what the asshole standing before them had done.

Violence and revenge were actually probably the least of the things he deserved. They would barely count as punishment at all.

Epsilon’s memories were racing to the surface, and Church had to steady himself to make sure he didn’t drown in the resurgence of all of the pain and anger they brought with them. There was so much long-suffering sadness and abandonment buried in those depths too.

In a way, he knew Carolina felt it as well. Their altered memories were only scratching the surface of it all. This wasn’t going to be something for his teammates or the Resistance members to see.

The backroom had clearly been redesigned into a private workspace and possible live-in area for the Director during his time here. Church wondered how long he had been stuck here since the dissolution of Project Freelancer and the time when people started to notice he was missing, but then the A.I. reminded himself that he didn’t really give a shit.

The place was messy and in disarray. While the man had always kept up the appearance of an imperious perfectionist while out in public, his personal life had been in shambles.

The Director’s obsession with his work and research meant that if someone hadn’t always been monitoring his environments and basic condition, he could lose himself in his tasks for days on end without realizing the mess he was leaving behind. The Director sometimes wouldn’t even eat for days.

It had gotten worse since _she_ had died. Since _Allison_ was no longer there to force him to give a shit about his personal life.

_A little girl with red hair watched him from the doorway, having tried unsuccessfully for the seventh time that day to get him to eat something. Or, to even say anything or look at her._

The only other thing Church could really say about the space they were currently in was that he really could have done without the video file looping incessantly on the large display in the background.

It was of a blond woman in fatigues preparing to depart for yet another mission that the Director didn’t want her to go on. The video would always end the same, with the female talking about how she hated goodbyes.

From where she stood next to him, Church felt Carolina freeze in her tracks when she noticed the video that was playing. When she heard the all-too familiar voice, an odd tenseness in her body became apparent as she stared at the woman she had always tried racing towards but could never catch up with.

The Director sat down at the chair in front of the screen, turning his back to them. His body language completely enthralled once again at the repeating images of the dead woman that showed up there. He seemed to have, at the very least, picked up on Carolina’s reaction.

The Director asked her over his shoulder one question: “Would you like to watch this one with me, Carolina?”

Carolina stiffened, and Church knew she had witnessed scenes similar to this a million times over her lifetime. He knew how they had affected her too, something that the Director had never quite understood due to his fixation on his own grief.

At least this time, the older man took her silence as a refusal instead of just tuning her out.

The Director sighed, eyes never leaving the video, “I take it you two aren’t here just to chat?”

Whatever slight thread of patience Church had was lost at that. Although, to be honest, it had been pretty much nonexistent already.

“You really think we’d track you down like this to shoot the shit?” The A.I. asked incredulously, “After _everything_ you’ve fucking done?!?”

 _Project Freelancer. Carolina and his altered memories of things that had_ never _happened. Everyone turning against each other. Being split apart. Tex along for the ride. The Meta nearly killing everyone. Epsilon trying to kill himself in Washington’s head._

Or, just the simple fact that Church was _fucking forced to_ _remember_ _all of it_.

The Director didn’t even look back at them, didn’t even react to the outburst, “I thought it necessary at the time.”

“Bullshit!” Church exploded, taking a step forward as he felt a burning sensation in the back of his mind before remembering Sigma, then felt anger only to remember Omega a second later, “You fucking _used_ us. You tore us apart! Of all the people to drag into that mess too you included _Carolina_ , and _Tex_ —“

“Director.”

It was Carolina’s voice speaking up just then that caused Church to pause in his rant, and he turned to look at her. Her body was stiff, but her tone was surprisingly even and a lot calmer than he would have expected given her reasoning for wanting to be here earlier.

The redhead had torn her attention away from the woman on the screen as her “cousin” had been yelling, her attention focused now on the man sitting before it who had never been able to do the same for her, “What are you doing here?”

The glasses-wearing man didn’t look away from Allison, but he answered the Freelancer’s question, “I was a ‘ _guest_ ’ of Hargrove’s for a time following what happened with Project Freelancer. I was forced to work on the alien artifact when it arrived some time earlier.”

The older man did pause just then to cast a momentary glance at the door they had gone through earlier, “Those fighters out there. They plan on detonating it, don’t they?”

Church scoffed at the statement of the obvious, “Better than that asswipe Hargrove using it to wipe out the Slums.”

The Director gave a slight, surprising nod of agreement at the sentiment before turning around to watch the video again.

Church supposed he could understand that particular reaction at least. The Director was a monumental asshole, but the irony was that he hated Hargrove for similar reasoning to their own and being held captive by the man following the collapse of his own secret military project probably hadn’t helped that sentiment any. The graying-haired man probably thought it was just as insane to let someone like Hargrove or his mercenaries have a hold of so much power as well.

“The blast is liable to damn well rip this entire mountain to pieces though.” The Director remarked as casually as one might discuss the weather, “You’d never make it out of here in time.”

Carolina looked thoughtful, “I take it that you have some way around that?”

As much as the idea of anything resembling an almost civil conversation with the Director churned at Church’s digital and metallic insides, he managed with great effort to hold back on any sarcastic remarks at the moment. We are talking “ _this is clearly someone with the patience of a saint and he deserves a shitload of medals_ ” type of effort here.

After all, the idea of Church and his friends getting killed on top of everything else didn’t exactly sit well with the Above Grounder.

The Director nodded, eyes transfixed on the Allison on the screen still saying how she hated goodbyes, “I can control the blast’s radius from here due to some programming I added in without any of Hargrove’s men knowing. I can make sure it is contained in a localized area: this base and nowhere else.”

The older man didn’t turn around as he added with a careless shrug, “I would have to stay behind to enter in the final adjustments though.”

Carolina didn’t even bat an eye, looking from him to the image of Allison once more, “You were planning on doing so anyways.”

The Director didn’t even bother refuting her statement.

“Being here gave me time to dwell on things I had been avoiding.” He stated at length, “There is a lot I have to make up for, Carolina. To the world at large for helping activate that monstrous thing. To her.” The Above Grounder turned his green eyes then to look at her briefly, and the expression on his face was both sad and unreadable all at once while Church hated him for it all the same, “To _you_.”

Without waiting for a reply, the Director shrugged before turning back to face the video feed, “This wouldn’t even come close.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” The redhead agreed, voice tight and controlled once more.

Then, just for a moment, her body language softened slightly and became hesitant. The Freelancer considered one of the weapons at her side before pulling the pistol out and setting it on the man’s lap.

“Just in case someone who isn’t too friendly tries coming in when we leave.” She informed him, “I’d lock the door after us.”

“Thank you, Carolina.”

The Director hadn’t stopped watching the video.

Carolina hesitated again, debating something, before leaning forward once more. Tentatively, unsurely even, Church noticed her resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

The Director didn’t react to the gesture, even though so much had been conveyed through it. Church wanted to shout all over again at him as Carolina pulled away, apparently not surprised at all. With that, she turned her back to leave.

“Carolina—!“ Church tried protesting, some of his anger spilling out.

Coming here to face the Director, only to just be leaving things like this? It didn’t feel _right_ to him.

The redhead didn’t turn around from where was standing near the door already, “Church.” She took a deep breath, steadying her voice, “At least this way it will _mean_ something.”

As sucky as it was, he knew she was right.

The asshole who had messed with all of their lives _was_ going to die still, even though it wasn’t in a way Church would call satisfactory. Though, really, he doubted any way would have been for him. There was too much hurt and pain and _regret_ for that to ever be the case.

At least with the Director choosing to go out this way, they could get everyone out of the base safely and still prevent the relic from being used.

“I can give you about twenty minutes once the charges and self-destruction sequences are set, but I believe they will be locking down the base beforehand.”

 _Typical Director bullshit_! That was definitely the type of thing someone probably should have mentioned _before_ instead of wasting a shitload of time none of them really had. At this point though, Church didn’t even have the energy to get as pissed off with the asshole as he should have.

Carolina nodded, “Understood, sir.”

With that, she left the room without looking back. Church followed in her wake as the entire building started to quake all around them.

*****

Following the tense standoff with Agent South Dakota, Kimball’s group made its way cautiously closer to the base along with the orchid and green trim-armored Freelancer in tow.

It wasn’t exactly a situation most in their group were happy about, and Kimball could understand the reasoning far too well from what she knew about the checkered pasts of her group. The aftermath of the trio’s defection had left lasting scars. One of the most prevalent, of course, being the bullet that had been lodged in North’s back by the very twin sister now with them.

Tex and York weren’t entirely keen on having South in their midst given that, which was understandable concerning their history. Kimball knew that the two Above Grounders had very strong opinions when it came to people who abandoned or betrayed teammates.

The situation seemed especially hard for Tex, as she had been the one who carried North’s body into the underground tunnels following South’s betrayal. Both she and York had watched over their Freelancer friend as he recovered from the medical operations that had been necessary to keep him alive afterwards.

They had both helped in North’s further recovery and rehabilitation, after the medical personnel in the Resistance said the blond would have extremely limited mobility given the wound. With both York and Tex helping in his therapy, North had thankfully been able to move with more mobility than had been originally expected. It was no wonder they were at unease with South’s presence right now.

Currently, York simply cast a few wary looks in South’s direction as they walked. The brown-haired man shook his head slightly when the woman cheekily shrugged back as if not caring about his reaction to her presence, acting more amused than really annoyed at the obvious unease he felt at her being there.

He would turn to make eye contact with North following those incidents though. North would simply shrug himself and shake his head, the motion an almost sad and resigned one that asked for patience on his friend’s part.

York would grumble something under his breath then to Delta, who flickered and responded in an equally low voice. Apparently the two had their own opinions about the situation, but were trying to be respectful enough to North not to voice them out loud.

As for Tex? Well, Tex made her distaste for everything quite clear, and it was pretty apparent with her body language and the glares that she was sending South’s way even with her helmet on that the _only_ reason South was still standing at the moment was out of respect for North

Still, the redhead made no effort to hide the fact that she thought North’s decision was a foolish one and not one that she agreed with either. The was made abundantly clear given the glare she would send her teammate’s way that seemed to speak volumes about her opinion of the foolish risk she thought he was taking.

Kimball had a feeling that if South remotely moved in the wrong direction towards her brother, or really any of them, Tex would not hesitate to act on the perceived threat.

South’s reaction to that seemed a bit more hostile as well compared to the almost jovial way she interacted with York’s obvious distrust of her. She returned Tex’s helmeted glare full-force whenever it was directed her way, and her body posture screamed _“Just try me.”_ whenever that occurred.

She seemed to thrive on challenges and conflict, as if that was a natural element of her personality. It was a stark contrast to North’s usual calmness save in intense battle situations.

Yet, there was a definite oddness in the way South was reacting to her twin in particular now that they had spoken. Their initial meeting had been hostile, yes. Kimball definitely recognized it as being full of venom and anger. Some of it perhaps at least rightfully justified in South’s view, quite a bit of it perhaps misplaced from a situation that none of the Freelancers had been completely prepared to be in.

But, it seemed that North’s reaction to all of it, and his cautious forgiveness had caught South off-guard. The female twin was still trying to adjust to it.

She kept her distance from all of them when they moved forward, but South especially kept distant from her twin. While at times when she did look over at her brother and make eye contact with him it was always accompanied by disdain and contempt, it wasn’t a challenge like it was with York and Tex.

No, if anything, there was a hesitancy and an awkwardness there. Maybe a part of South felt at least slightly guilty. Or she was just really put out of sorts by how her brother had reacted to seeing her again.

Kimball wasn’t entirely sure that the Freelancer could be trusted, especially with North’s comments to her following the twins’ reunion. But, she supposed this was an example of an old bond that wasn’t entirely ever fully capable of being severed completely.

Growing up and working together had probably left an impact neither Dakota sibling could ever fully erase, no matter how much they may have wanted to at times.

There was a flicker of purple nearby her head, and Kimball turned slightly to see that Theta had apparently decided to visit with her for a moment. York, Delta, and Tex were further ahead but always glancing everywhere just in case while the Resistance leader had been lagging slightly behind the others, with South and North directly in front of her in a way that formed a sort of triangle.

If she was being honest, her position in the back of the group was mainly because North’s earlier words about South’s tendency to catch people unaware had left her cautious about having her back exposed to his sibling. If nothing else, she thought from this vantage point that she could react quickly to any possible hostile move South might make towards her brother or one of the others.

C.T. had once said that it was smart to keep watch in the back if you find yourself in a group of Freelancers when discussing her former partners too, in light of what had happened between North and South.

“Are you worried about her as well?” The A.I. Fragment asked without preamble, glancing nervously at South as they walked.

Kimball considered the question. It made sense in a way that Theta wouldn’t exactly have much beyond fear for South given that the woman had ripped him from North’s neck awhile back, and her personality certainly did seem to be the type that would clash more with his shyer nature as well.

No doubt he was also just worried for his partner too.

“A little.” She admitted finally, “Though I am worried for North too.”

The blond certainly seemed understandably troubled by recent events, but North was trying to still act as if he was completely positive he had made the right choice for himself and for the others. Perhaps this was his way of dealing with the uncertainty, tension, and hurt that represented the twins’ fractured relationship now.

The dark-skinned woman couldn’t necessarily blame him for having the hope that maybe things could get better though, even if in this case she was having a hard time imagining just how such a damaged relationship _could_ be repaired.

Still, hope was pretty much the only thing she ran on in some days, this one included.

“I am too.” Theta looked between the twins nervously.

“What do you think of his decision, Theta?” Kimball asked, curious about the A.I.’s thoughts.

“I…I think North cares about his sister still, and that he was more sad than angry about what happened. That made me sad too.” The Fragment paused, “He wants to give her a chance because of that.”

Kimball nodded, though she remained silent since that hadn’t really answered her question.

“Even though she scares me, I—I want to give her a chance too. For North.” Theta continued, “Though I don’t think I can forgive her just yet.”

“That’s fine. It takes a lot to forgive things like that.” The Resistance leader stated quietly.

“M—maybe I will later though. If she gets nicer.” The small purple figure didn’t sound too sure that would happen, but he looked at the Slums dweller for reassurance that it was a good thing to at least keep the possibility open.

It was a very innocent and childlike quality. Even though Kimball herself wasn’t the best when it came to matters of forgiveness all the time, she didn’t have the heart to deny Theta that comfort.

“I think that would make North happy.” She told him.

For some reason, saying that made her think of her arguments with Doyle. She couldn’t help but frown within her helmet. The older Above Grounder had been a bit more open-minded in the last discussion they’d had, so she supposed it was only fair if she could try to keep that kind of possibility open with him too once this was all said and done.

“Thank you, Miss Kimball.” Theta said in earnest, her words apparently enough to ease some of the worry on his mind if nothing else.

He gave a slight nod to her before he flickered away. The dark-skinned woman noticed Theta appearing again right next to North a couple seconds later, the Freelancer glancing back to offer her a slight nod in appreciation as well.

When she returned it, the Resistance leader was caught off guard by the fact that South had actually slowed down her steps a bit to have the two of them in closer hearing range of one another as the Freelancer regarded Kimball carefully.

“Something on your mind, Agent South Dakota?” The Slums dweller asked her, standing straighter.

She could make out some slight faltering in the other Freelancers’ gaits, but they didn’t step in or intervene just yet since South hadn’t done anything that seemed to indicate a hostile intent towards the Resistance leader.

“Just noticed you telling the kid to at least try to give me a chance.” The other woman remarked, “I was just surprised the leader of the Resistance would bother with that kind of shit.”

“It was more for his and North’s sake.” Kimball told her, “If you are planning on sticking around.”

“Who knows?” There was a definite smirk in South’s voice just then, “I don’t think my old teammates would appreciate that too much.”

“If you did prove yourself trustworthy, you’d have a lot of people vouching for you.” Kimball responded, “Your brother, for instance.”

“He would be a dumbass idiot for doing so given what I did.” South’s reply was sharp and biting, “You know I’d do it again, right?”

Kimball knew. The anger was still there, coming off of her in waves.

“Yes.” She glanced at South in that moment though, saw the hesitant look the Above Grounder shot at both North and Theta just then, “But you’d still feel conflicted over it.”

“Because that’s the shitty thing about trust and family.” South remarked, “Doesn’t change anything though. Doesn’t change that I’ve been left in the dark no matter how many times I tried proving myself. Doesn’t change that I want to break a whole lot of skulls over it.”

“I wouldn’t think it would.” Kimball looked at the twin questioningly, “Any reason in particular you’re sharing this information?”

South offered a shrug in response, “You’re the only person here who probably doesn’t want to try to kick my ass on a personal level, and I can at least respect you not mouthing off about stuff you don’t know anything about to Theta or the other dipshits.”

Kimball nodded, “Given how things are right now? If the skulls you want to break currently just happen to not be North or any of my friends, I’ll leave it at that.”

The dark-skinned woman didn’t really have to add that the “ _currently_ ” would change in an instant the second she did think South might go after her brother or someone else in the Resistance. Or that it was a temporary stave of the situation until they processed just what to do next.

Given the slight nod and odd look of respect it seemed South flashed her way, she figured that undertone of her wording had been very well-received.

Following that conversation, it took no time at all for Kimball, the Freelancers, and the handful of other Resistance fighters who had made it through the battle outside to enter the base proper. They were greeted by a large entry way opening into multiple corridors and stairwells that would lead all over the building.

As it turned out, however, Kimball had been right in her assessment that the supposed quietness of the facility once they had made it closer to the entrance and encountered South had been a ruse. The inside was far from deserted, with several soldiers and mercenaries pooling in from the various hallways and side-rooms the second the group had made their way to the center of the space.

There was a loud, slow clap coming from a right-side hallway that a dozen or so steel-armored mercenaries came from. She didn’t even need to see the person making the obnoxious gesture to guess who it was.

“Hello, Vanessa.” Felix greeted patronizingly from amidst his comrades, nodding at her before doing so to each of the others with her, “Random people I never bothered learning the names of. Freelancers. I gotta say, you guys are looking _well_ for people who are about to die horribly.”

He turned to South last, not even missing a beat at her presence there, “Ah, the angry chick! Good to know you’re trying to patch things up with your goodie-two-shoes brother over there.” He tilted his head slightly, “Or, are you are trying to shoot him again? Yeah, kind of hard to keep track of those troubling mood swings of yours when I don’t really care enough to pay too much attention.”

South glanced at North, her grip on her gun tightening, “When I figure that out I’ll make sure you’re the last to know, asshole.”

“She’s a peach. I can see why you’d be willing to forgive her.” Felix remarked to North, “That really does call into question how good your sense of judgement is, buddy.”

Before North could even get out any type of reply, Tex stepped forward. Apparently, the black-armored Freelancer had had enough of Felix’s mocking attitude in light of her own thoughts on North’s decision and the situation with South.

“ _Fuck off_ , Felix.” She raised her gun and fired, aiming right for the middle of his visor.

The energy shield he activated deflected the bullet at the last moment, and the ammunition fell to the ground harmlessly by his foot.

He tsked loudly, shaking his head as if to scold a child, “Sorry, but that’s not the way this is going to go down, Tex.”

At that second, a loud noise that sounded like screeching metal burst through their ears, as the floor (no, more like the entire _building_ ) began shaking violently.

It took everything the Resistance group had to just stay on their feet, though fortunately it seemed to be just as much a struggle for the enemy troops as well so they weren’t in danger of getting shot at just yet. Kimball turned her head slightly behind her, a growing sense of dread forming in her gut as she saw a sheet of what looked like solid metal blocking the entrance they had left often behind them.

Several of the hallways and doors that the mercenaries had stepped through were closing quickly as well, sealing them all inside.

Felix stood up quickly then, his body language as smug as his voice, “You see, in this stage of our plan? You guys are stuck in here, and we pick you off one-by-one before turning on our fancy new weapon. I like that plan _a lot_ better than yours.”

*****

The air was heavy with a very tense, uncomfortable silence following the bullet hole that had lodged into the terminal screen just millimeters from Doctor Grey’s head.

The dark-skinned woman had frozen in place just then, Sheila grabbing onto her arm as if to pull the human down to what minimal cover the floor might provide if Locus decided to fire another shot. The robot seemed to only be holding back for the off-chance that a sudden movement might provoke the mercenary into the very action she would be trying to prevent.

Caboose and Freckles were still trained on the open doorway, the V.I.’s incredible targeting capabilities and rapid-fire shooting hopefully enough to keep any other enemy soldiers that might be trying to head over to the room at bay while they had their standoff with Locus here.

Palomo, Andersmith, and Kaikaina had turned to focus their attention on said mercenary. With all three of the lieutenants targeting him, Locus was the focus of weapons from two different spots in the room given the gunsights also leveled at him from C.T. and Wash. Tucker’s sword was at the ready as well.

Washington knew that Locus was an impressive shooter, but even he would have a hard time taking out all of them in this situation before sustaining some kind of injury. Which made _why_ the mercenary had even chosen to reveal his presence to them all the more puzzling from a strategic stance.

The steel and green-armored fighter wasn’t speaking, however, and they didn’t exactly have the time or luxury for an intense stand-off given what they were up against.

“What did you mean by saying you had less to do now?” Wash finally asked, deciding to get things moving. If nothing else, a conversation would hopefully help most of the Resistance fighters get to better spots.

Locus glanced at the blond, his expression unreadable due to his helmet’s darker visor and his body language in general tending to never give anything away, “I am free to just destroy the relay now without any concern that the information it was transmitting would be lost.”

Out of the corner of Washington’s eyes, he caught both C.T. and Tucker shooting him questioning glances. He understood why, really, as what Locus said didn’t make any logical sense.

Given his work for Hargrove, it actually was in Locus’ best interest to make sure the information that had been sent to this base about work on the relic and everything else was destroyed. Particularly if there was the slightest possibility it could get back to the rest of the Council in a reliable format before the Chairman’s coup had been completed.

If Locus had been in here earlier, which seemed highly plausible given that the lieutenants and Caboose had been physically blocking the doorway ever since they had come here? Well, by that stance, the smartest risk prevention Locus could have done to ensure that the information wasn’t copied or transferred was destroy everything and everyone in the room before that could even become an issue.

The fact that he hadn’t, that he’d allowed them to create a full copy before destroying the machinery?

Suddenly, the lack of enemy troops on their way through the building that Washington had been more than just a little cautious about made an odd sort of sense. Of course, he wasn’t quite sure yet how to wrap his head around it.

“You’re the reason we haven’t run into too many soldiers in here yet, aren’t you?” The Above Grounder asked.

“What are you talking about, Wash? What did he have to do with that?” Tucker remarked from behind him, not yet getting what was going on. Next to the teal-armored soldier, C.T. seemed to understand what her childhood friend was getting at as he noticed her head turning to assess Locus and gauge the mercenary’s reaction.

“Yeah!” Palomo spoke up just then, confused as well, “I sort of just assumed we got lucky.”

C.T. was frowning underneath her helmet, “That type of luck usually doesn’t exist in these situations, Palomo.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Locus gave her a curt nod and she returned the gesture with a hostile glare through her visor.

Understandably, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to be in his presence given what had happened between them in the past, even as she was apparently mulling this new information over.

“I’m not sure I’m really following, but this is definitely not the type of lucky I’d be looking forward to, right?” Kaikaina asked quietly.

Andersmith shook his head, “Doubtful.”

“My type of lucky is hanging out with my friends. Also, playing with Freckles.” Caboose supplied then, “Oh! Playing with Freckles _and_ a basket of puppies! That would be the best luck ever!”

“AGREED!” His gun shot a bit of confetti into the air just then.

Locus apparently decided to ignore all of the conversation around them and focus again on Washington’s earlier question. That was probably for the best, considering Washington was fairly certain his own brain was about to explode at the way the conversation had turned once the term “ _lucky_ ” had been thrown into the mix.

Locus nodded at the steel and yellow-armored Freelancer, “I told Felix that I believed only one or two Resistance fighters made it to the upper levels. More than enough for me to handle on my own and still destroy the relay.”

That definitely explained the lack of soldiers they had been encountering since entering the building but still, regardless, it also didn’t make a ton of sense.

“Why?” The blond asked instead, the finger on the trigger of his gun tightening minimally.

Locus shrugged, seemingly uncaring about the standoff happening around him, “Does it really matter?” He asked instead, “Considering what’s about to happen, I’ve given you a fighting chance. Provided you can meet up with your allies.”

As the mercenary spoke, the room (no, more like the entire _base_ ) suddenly started to quake violently around them.

Doctor Grey fell on top of Sheila with a shriek. Caboose and Andersmith held onto the sides of the doorway to keep themselves upright. Kaikaina and Palomo both fell backwards, and probably would have fallen into the hallway had it not been for the two others outstretching their arms to block them from doing so. C.T. gripped one of the computer terminals close by with her free hand, her gun still trained on the impassively standing Locus.

Washington could hear Tucker swearing behind him as he did the same with a terminal close by. The Freelancer shot out his other arm without looking back, not making a comment at all when Tucker latched on to it to keep from falling right into his back.

The second the shaking lessened, Doctor Grey shot upright regardless of the threat of Locus still in the room, racing over to one of the displays that was now flashing an image of the outside of the base.

“Oh no, oh no!” She took in a deep breath to keep from sounding too panicked at the sight of a thick wall completely covering the structure, “The bulkheads have been sealed!”

“What the actual fuck?!?” Tucker’s grip on Washington’s arm tightened to the point where, if they both hadn’t been wearing armor, the Freelancer was fairly certain he would be leaving marks there.

Washington stared at Locus then. That had been the plan all along. Seal the Resistance inside and finish them off when they attempted to destroy the relic.

If Locus had given them “ _a fighting chance_ ” as he said by not attacking them and diverting troop attention away from them, what did that mean for their allies elsewhere in the facility? Was that what the mercenary had meant by Blue Team needing to still get to them?

“I suggest you take it.” Locus concluded, as if the events from a moment before hadn’t just occurred and he was still finishing a conversation that had never been so violently interrupted.

“Fuck!” Tucker had let go of his arm and Washington wasn’t sure why he almost felt disappointed, turning to the others, “We have to go!”

“Right.” Andersmith nodded, “General Kimball and the others are in danger!”

“We are as well if we cannot find a way out of here.” Sheila remarked, her normally polite and calm voice sounding a bit terse given the situation, “I will try to get a hold of Lopez.”

“Thanks, Sheila.” Tucker gave her an appreciative nod as both she and Doctor Grey raced towards the exit of the room with C.T. covering them.

Washington was about to turn as well when he paused to glare at Locus again, still not at all sure of the man’s actions.

“Why?” He repeated.

Locus stared at the display he had shot through before, “Let’s just say you weren’t the only one who has been led astray, Agent Washington.”

Then Tucker was back in the room after having ushered the rest of his team through the door and out into the corridor, just as a loud wailing siren that Washington recognized as a self-destruct warning blared to deafening life all around them, “Wash! Come on, we’ve got to hurry!”

Tucker was pulling on the Above Grounder’s arm frantically, and Locus was gone in the sudden cacophony that had erupted. Washington swore, allowing Tucker to turn him towards the door as the two ran after the others.

*****

The loud noise that suddenly filled the base and caused everything to shake violently had Bitters swearing up a storm.

Red Team had just finished setting up the explosives around the relic. It was enough to choke a horse, Sarge had declared afterwards, though what choking an old Earth animal had to do with blowing up a doomsday weapon was beyond the lieutenant’s comprehension. Still, the self-destruct system would help ensure the rest from what they had been told earlier.

It was probably something of a goddamned miracle that the quaking _hadn’t_ caused some sort of chain reaction and set everything off early.

For a moment, Bitters almost forgot that they were on the planet’s surface since there were no windows in this research area to the outside given how deep inside the center of the base it was. He thought for a moment that they were down in the mining tunnels around the Slums again. The shaking there was always a bad thing, as that usually meant a tunnel could be in danger of collapsing all around you.

In hindsight, since they were on the side of a goddamned mountain currently, violent shaking here probably wasn’t any better here. Particularly if said shaking caused a shitload of snow and rocks to come crashing down over the place.

Bitters stumbled, gripping onto a railing nearby to steady himself.

The lieutenants had all huddled together in a group following setting up the explosives around the relic that didn’t really appear to be the all-menacing threat everyone knew it to be based on just initial viewing. Still, it was clearly activated now since it was glowing and humming rather eerily.

Bitters had seen the read-out specs flicking across the screens around the lab though and, while he didn’t really know scientific terminology or what they really meant, he had come to the conclusion that the energy readouts from the relic were huge considering the large numbers that were scrolling there at a constant pace.

Matthews had been standing next to him when they shaking started, and the young man’s loss of footing was even worse since he wasn’t close enough to the railing to grab onto it. He dove headfirst towards the ground, Bitters’ outstretched arm grabbing tightly around his elbow and pulling him right up next to him. The grip being the only thing that kept the auburn-haired lieutenant from falling down completely.

The yellow-trimmed rookie shot him a grateful look, and Bitters only nodded. No way was he letting the stupid suck-up fall and knock himself out if he could avoid it. He even kept a firm, steadying grip on the other’s elbow even after the shaking subsided.

“What was that?” Jensen shouted from nearby.

She and Volleyball had been close enough to the railing to grab a hold of it themselves when the shaking had started. The younger girl was still gripping on to it for dear life, even after her pink-trimmed friend experimentally and cautiously let go once things seemed to stabilize.

When the shaking had started, Sarge had been “ _catching up on old times_ ” with the mercenary Wyoming nearby the door that the female Freelancer and that Church guy had gone through with the Director fellow. Evidently, while they hadn’t been “close” to one another during his time in Above Ground and he made it pretty obvious he didn’t trust the white-armored man as far as he could throw him, the two had shared an acquaintance in the past that apparently kept Sarge from following through with his throwing threat. At least for the moment.

Apparently neither Sarge nor Wyoming were entirely sure about what Carolina and Church wanted the Director guy for either. Bitters was fairly certain most of the people around didn’t know the full story about him, and he doubted that they’d ever know the whole thing.

It wasn’t like he really cared either way. So long as whatever was going on there didn’t bite any of them in the ass any more than it already had, everything was okay with him.

“Everyone all right?” The Red Team leader called out just then, having used the wall to steady himself while Bitters looked around to survey the area.

“That can’t be good.” Wyoming muttered from next to Sarge.

“Oh, we’re just fine, sir! This isn’t even close to the worst tumble I’ve had!” Donut spoke up from where he had fallen into Doc’s lap just a few seconds before.

Unfortunately, both of them had been out in the middle of the floor when the shaking occurred so they’d had no way to keep from losing their balance completely. Though, from the looks of their positions and everything, it did not seem as if the two really minded all that much since they hadn’t been injured.

Simmons had been standing near some computer terminals on the other side of the lab with Lopez. Apparently, Church had insisted on it on account of the cyborg having more sensitive hearing. He hadn’t wanted the maroon-armored soldier picking up on whatever private discussion he and Carolina were currently having with the Director guy.

The redhead groaned from where he was gripping onto the computer terminal with such force that his hands actually left imprints. Looking up at something that was on display there, he gasped.

“Oh, _fuck me_.” Simmons muttered, “We’re sealed in.”

“Y, por supuesto, el temporizador de autodestrucción acaba de comenzar también. Porque nuestro tiempo siempre es una mierda.” _{“And of course the self-destruct timer just started too. Because our timing always sucks.”}_

The others raced over to crowd around Simmons and Lopez just then, staring in horror at the display screen that showcased what appeared to be the entire base covered with some kind of metallic shielding.

No wonder there hadn’t been too much fighting on their way here. Even with the enemy forces thinking their biggest threat was Kimball’s group given the way the initial attack phase had gone, they hadn’t really been planning on launching any real “offensive” fighting until the Resistance was locked inside with nowhere to go.

No doubt they’d expected the scientists and researchers here to have just kept the lab sealed tight until afterwards so the relic would be untouched. It was only the Director’s apparent turnabout that had put a halt to that side of the ambush.

Almost sadly ironic to think of now considering that meant they’d all be blown up in about twenty minutes or so, even if they weren’t killed off by whatever soldiers had been lying in wait for this moment.

“So, the plan was always to seal us inside and finish us off that way?” Sarge asked out loud, having put things together himself given how things had just played out, “Diabolical.”

“Por favor, no impresionar por las cosas que probablemente conducirán a nosotros morir.” _{“Please don't be impressed by things that will likely lead to us dying.”}_

“Lopez is right, we can’t stand here impressed all day!” Donut exclaimed, his hand gripped tightly around Doc’s, “Now’s definitely the time for some action!”

Lopez nodded at the pink-armored man’s comment.

“Por una vez, estoy de acuerdo con eso. Eso sí, no añadimos nada extraño y vamos a considerar esto un puto milagro.” _{“For once, I can agree with that. Just don't add in anything strange and we'll consider this a fucking miracle.”}_

“We are so fucked.” Bitters muttered under his breath, barely noticing Matthews touching his shoulder tentatively as if to reassure him.

“So, what do we do now?” Doc asked nervously from his spot next to Donut, his eyes flickering back to the relic that was now set to blow up way too soon, “We’re stuck inside here and that means…”

“Things aren’t looking too good.” Volleyball finished for the medic after he trailed off helplessly, her voice more grim-sounding than Bitters had ever remembered hearing the sports-enthusiastic girl sounding.

The door opened to the backroom that the three others had gone into before, but it was only the cyan-armored Carolina and cobalt-wearing Church who emerged. With quick, meaningful steps they both made their way over to the huddled group.

“You’re right about that,” Church informed the blonde before pressing a button on the computer terminal they were gathered around and bringing up what looked like a blueprint of a level they had passed by on their way to the lab before, “But the _good_ news is that there’s a nearby area used to house transports that has weaker wall protection from the outside than the rest of the base due to some structural integrity bullshit or something. A strong enough blast from outside the base there _should_ be enough to punch a hole right through that will be large enough for us to get out.”

Wyoming looked at him curiously, “I suppose the Director provided that little bit of information?”

Church shrugged, “The asshole owes all of us a hell of a lot more than that, but at least we can use it.”

The former Freelancer nodded, glancing over at the door they had come through just then, “I take it he isn’t going to be joining us on this escape mission?”

“No.” This time it was Carolina’s turn to speak up, her voice stony, “Someone has to remain behind to make sure the blast is contained.”

“Ah.” If the idea of a man he used to work for remaining behind to help ensure a successful explosion upset the British-accented mercenary, he did not show it in the slightest. Nor did he seem to comment on whether or not whatever he guessed had happened in the room was a surprising turn of events or not from what he had perhaps assumed it would be.

“Like I said, he fucking owes us.” Church repeated, anger sharp in his tone.

“But we’re all stuck in here and there are no explosives left outside the base!” Doc spoke up again, bringing the topic back to the more pressing concern they all had.

Lopez, Sarge, Simmons, and the four lieutenants shared a look just then. It was as if they were all collectively remembering something that was more vital now than it had felt like it would be at the time.

“That isn’t necessarily true.” Jensen stated quietly, causing the people gathered there who weren’t privy on Sarge’s last minute backup plan to turn in order to look at her questioningly.

“She’s right. Thanks to the ingenious prepping of Red Team, there’s still a bit of firepower out there.” Sarge said, his voice proud, “The problem being we’ll need to get a message out somehow.”

“Yeah,” Simmons had a frown in his voice as he looked at the shielding specs on screen once more, “Communication with the outside is going to be tough with the comm-links cut off inside the base.”

“We’ve only been able to keep in touch with Blue Team because of Lopez and Sheila!” Donut quipped.

“Hablando de eso, me pondré en contacto con Sheila ahora. Para ver si ella y los demás están bien.” _{“Speaking of, I will contact Sheila now. To see if she and the others are okay.”}_

“Leave that to us.” Carolina looked at Wyoming expectantly, her gun already in hand again, “Wyoming, is your armor’s temporal distortion enhancement still functioning?”

The white-armored mercenary sighed, resignation sagging his shoulders somewhat, “Well, I should have figured this would happen.”

*****

Dexter Grif was pretty certain by this point that he _hated_ waiting.

Sure, he’d never been a big fan of it before. Not unless said waiting involved the chance to nap or eat when he would otherwise be deprived, but that was usually for normal shit that didn’t really have much impact on anything.

Waiting was definitely worse in these types of life-or-death situations, such as the one he currently found himself in. They were either just waiting for some attack on the air transport they were guarding, or on word that the mission had either succeeded or failed.

To put it in simple terms, _it sucked_.

Especially when said mission not only involved the fate of the crummy place he still affectionately called home, but also all of his friends and comrades who had volunteered for it too.

His sister, Tucker, his teammates, the lieutenants, Kimball, the Freelancers ( _although he halfway suspected that Tex could survive damn near anything at this point_ ). …Simmons.

He groaned, the motion causing Junior to glance at him questioningly from where the small child had been sitting nearby on the opposite side of the open back of the transport.

“Blarg?” Tucker’s son asked, tilting his head to the side questioningly before glancing nervously back outside into the snowy expanse of Sidewinder.

With the wind whirling around as it had been, they’d lost sound of the fighting minutes after the Resistance groups had split up and were gone from sight. But, there was no doubt that it was still raging on regardless.

Grif winced, knowing that the waiting was no doubt _just_ as shitty for the half-alien as it was for him considering that Tucker was out there along with all of Junior’s friends too.

The orange-armored soldier was the adult in this scenario, even if he kind of hated to admit it. He needed to act like it.

“Sorry, kiddo,” The tan man mumbled, “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Honk.” From the knowing look filtering through Junior’s eyes, it seemed as if he understood enough to know exactly what Grif had most likely been thinking of.

Really, it probably wasn’t too hard to guess. Given how subdued Junior was behaving in general, he knew that the child was thinking about it too.

“Hey, I’m sure your dad’s fine.” He tried saying cheerily, “He’s got not only C.T. but that crazy new Freelancer guy to watch his back. Not to mention Kai and Freckles.”

Junior seemed to perk up slightly at the name-droppings, nodding his head enthusiastically to the reassurance: “Blarg!”

Well, even if Junior was still nervous, it was the type of comfort anyone in this situation would be wanting to take and hold onto right about now, particularly at his age. Grif couldn’t help but smile slightly, shifting a bit in his standing position as he did so before immediately wincing within the confines of his helmet at the sharp pain that motion wracked his body with.

_Fuck!_

It looked as if the heavy-duty pain killers that Doctor Grey had given him before she’d joined up with Blue Team for their part of the mission were starting to wear off. Which sucked majorly because he could really almost forget when they were at their strongest just how messed up his body still was.

At that moment, Doyle came over to stand with the two of them, looking out over the snowy expanse as well. Four Seven Niner would occasionally peak her head in their direction and ask how things were, but she was wisely staying up front in the cockpit.

It made sense, really, considering the air transport was going to be vital for getting out of here should the need arise. Or for possibly getting _to_ someone if, for whatever reason, they might need an emergency evacuation.

Grif tried not to think of anything too extreme that might qualify as such an emergency, though that didn’t keep the thoughts from racing to his head of his sister or Simmons or someone else lying shot and bleeding in the snow.

“I am sure they are doing fine.” Doyle spoke up to no one in particular, his voice hopeful and encouraging.

Junior and Grif glanced at one another. The poor guy probably was as much a ball of nerves as they were, waiting like this.

“However, it’s too bad the shielding inside the base disrupts communication from outside military channels.” The middle-aged man continued, “Would make wondering what is going on a lot less nerve-wracking.”

The two looked at the Above Grounder, Grif raising an eyebrow.

“Was that supposed to be a comforting thought?” The Resistance fighter asked him, “Because if it was, you might want to rephrase it. Just a tad.”

“Oh! Um, yes! My apologies.” Even in full armor, Doyle looked sheepish as he fidgeted awkwardly between Grif and Junior, “I shouldn’t have paused so long. What I was trying to say was that, even though waiting here is a trial, we really shouldn’t have much to worry about. Sarge is an excellent soldier, your friends are all tested fighters by this point and, even if we had our disagreements in the past, Miss Kimball’s strategy was sound. So, I am sure things are progressing as planned.”

This whole situation was hard on the older man too, Grif knew. He had to give Doyle credit for even trying and not just giving up by curling into a ball somewhere given how unfortunately he’d been roped into all of this mess with them.

“Probably should have led with that, don’t you think?”

A new, annoyingly familiar voice spoke up just then from right in front of the platform.

“Son of a bitch!” Grif swore, his gun aimed at the Freelancer already as Junior, obviously remembering the man too, bolted up into a ready-to-attack posture.

“Blarg!”

Because Wyoming’s armor was white, he’d been able to sneak right up to the transport in the swirling snowstorm without them even noticing until he decided to speak. That didn’t exactly boast well for their guard duty run.

“Hello, chaps, I’d say it was good to see you all again if, well, you know the situation.” Wyoming seemed oddly nonplussed at their reactions, nodding his head slightly at both Junior and Doyle, “Good to see the little alien isn’t any worse for wear after the last time I saw him, and you’re the second of Butch’s old friends I’ve met today. Quite the small world, I guess.”

“You were friends with Flowers?” Doyle was so thrown off by the remark that he hadn’t reacted as hostilely as Grif and Junior did to the newcomer in their midst.

Granted, he also didn’t have the same bad past experiences of dealing with the Freelancer-turned-mercenary as they did, so that was to be expected.

“Something like that. Teammates too.” Wyoming looked around cautiously, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could come in to do this chat? Armor helps, but it is still a bit nippy out in the open like this.”

“Blarg!” The venom in Junior’s voice was pretty apparent even if you didn’t understand his language.

“Give us one damn reason why we shouldn’t just try shooting you!” Grif added in.

Wyoming seemed more amused than anything else as he replied, “Beyond wasting bullets in the attempt?”

There were footsteps from further inside the transport, stopping just a few paces behind Doyle.

“Wyoming.” Four Seven Niner said in way of greeting, momentarily offsetting the tenseness of the situation by her appearance, “Wouldn’t think you’d have the guts to get anywhere close to one of my transports again after that last time.”

“Hello, Niner. Always a pleasure.” Wyoming’s voice was nothing but pleasantries when speaking to the pilot, “There’s really no need to get out the hose this time.”

“I suppose not, considering that Florida isn’t with you.” She sounded almost sad for a second, though whatever tilt the conversation had gone in was more or less lost on everyone else save her and the white-armored man. Doyle did seem as if he was about to ask someone about what they were discussing, but held back out of unsureness over what was going on.

“The gun you’re hiding behind your back is also completely unnecessary.” Wyoming informed her.

Four Seven Niner didn’t even seem surprised in the slightest that he’d caught on to that, pulling the weapon out for everyone to see and shrugging her shoulders in the process.

“I take it you won’t be expecting an apology?” She asked instead.

He shrugged, “Perfectly acceptable response to this type of situation.”

Wyoming then turned his attention back to the others, who still seemed to be viewing him with a whole lot of contempt and distrust, “Let’s just skip all of this unpleasantness, all right? I understand we haven’t been on the best of terms but, believe me, if I _wanted_ to kill you right now, I wouldn’t have bothered going to the trouble of making myself known beforehand.”

“He’s right.” The pilot spoke up quietly, “Though it’s the only thing I can say for certain about what he’s doing here.”

“Oh, that part is fairly straight forward.” Wyoming jerked his head back in the direction where the base was situated, “There’s been some complications, and your friends need a pretty big favor.”

Without further explanation, Wyoming walked up the ramp, stopping only to glance at both Junior and Grif in amusement and expectation at their still wary stances.

Reluctantly, the two eased up their body postures when facing him, though what the Freelancer had said was enough to nearly cause a huge panic amongst the small group gathered there.

“What the fuck do you mean by ‘ _complications_ ’?!?” Grif demanded, “What’s going on?”

 _Fuck_ , if someone was hurt or worse! Grif tried not to think of Kai or Simmons. He couldn’t even look over at Junior because he knew he would think of Tucker too.

A small, humanoid figure flickered to life next to Wyoming just then. However, all of them were used to how suddenly A.I. partners appeared at this point, so no one batted an eye given what they had just been told.

“Gary, if you could?” Wyoming asked.

“Of course.” Gamma’s oddly garbled voice stated.

There was an odd beeping sound, and suddenly a whole lot of static was streaming through the air.

_“Are we good to go?”_

Grif stiffened at the familiar sound of Sarge’s voice filling the transport.

Four Seven Niner looked impressed, “Well, that’s one way to bypass the communication shielding.”

“Yes, using the Fragments as comm-links was a rather clever idea the Director never quite got around to testing.” Wyoming muttered.

_“Fuck you! I’m not a goddamned radio!”_

That was Leonard Church’s voice, which Grif was a little more surprised to hear considering the de-facto leader of Simmons’ military unit in Above Ground hadn’t come along with his team when he had made them go to the Resistance before.

But, glancing at Wyoming just then, the Slums dweller supposed saying there had been complications with whatever the fuck had happened inside the base was an understatement.

 _“Well, it is nice that we can rely on you in case of an emergency like this one!”_ Doc’s voice filled the space now.

For some reason, Grif was getting a very clear mental image of a whole lot of people probably all clustered around Church like how they were with Gary now. Despite knowing that something big was happening, he couldn’t help but inwardly snicker at the mental imagery that provided considering how so not a people person the Above Grounder was.

_“Doc, if doing this didn’t freeze my robot body, I swear I would hit you.”_

“What the fuck is happening?” Grif asked, really unsure of pretty much everything at this point.

 _“Oh, hey! Is that Grif?”_ Donut’s voice chimed in then, and he could totally picture his cheery teammate waving, _“Hi, Grif! Is Junior and everyone else okay?”_

“Honk!” The boy in question shouted in response.

_”That’s the spirit, little buddy!”_

He could hear Church groan, _“Catching up and all is fun to do, but we seriously don’t have fucking time for this.”_

 _“He’s right.”_ Sarge’s voice spoke up, surprisingly somber, _“To put it bluntly, things are looking mighty bleak.”_

Doyle took in a deep breath, “What happened?”

 _“Well, we found the relic and it’s set to blow so that part of the plan actually went pretty dang well.”_ Sarge recalled, _“But, Felix and his cohorts have sealed the base to take us all out.”_

Grif realized what that meant a second later, “So, even if you guys do defeat them, you’ll be stuck in the base then with a bomb about to blow up.”

He was surprised at how calmly he managed to say that, as on the inside he was about two seconds away from screaming and either hitting something or running. Perhaps having this conversation in this way, with disembodied voices, was at least in part helping to keep that urge at bay for the moment. It was almost tricking his mind a bit into thinking that things weren’t as bleak as he knew they damn well were in this case.

 _“That’s the really crappy part, yeah.”_ Sarge didn’t even add an insult for his least favorite subordinate, which definitely hit home to Grif just how bad things must be.

Goddamn it! It wasn’t fair! This whole fucking thing happened because that Hargrove asshole wanted to blow up their fucking home just because he could. So, in stopping him, everyone was going to die?

How was that even remotely right? The orange-armored soldier really was about to scream and panic.

_“Grif?”_

It was Simmons’ voice coming over the radio that stopped him from doing so. Grif blinked, staring at Gamma since the A.I. was the only connection they had currently to what was going on in the base.

“Yeah, Simmons?” He was surprised at how steady his voice was.

 _”Um, well, things could definitely be better, but it’s not all bad.”_ He wasn’t sure if Simmons was trying to reassure Grif or himself, and he couldn’t help but smile at the effort considering how scared Simmons sounded just then.

Dumbass nerd.

 _“He’s right. So don’t start blubbering just yet, numb nuts.”_ Sarge was speaking up again, _“Because thanks to my brilliant contingent strategies, there’s still a chance we can all get out of here in one piece!”_

 _“No fue_ _una estrategia contingente. Sólo quería una excusa para hacer estallar cosas. Fue una coincidencia que resultó ser útil en esta ocasión.”_ {“It wasn’t a contingent strategy. You just wanted an excuse to blow stuff up. It was a coincidence it turned out to be useful this time.”}

 _”Lopez, I know you want to encourage everyone, but we have to let Sarge explain the plan!”_ Donut remarked.

 _“_ _Si él puede explicarlo y lo han sentido antes de que todos volamos, voy a ser impresionado.”_ {“If he can explain it and have it make sense before we all blow up, I will be impressed.”}

“Er, so what is this contingency exactly?” Doyle asked, apparently thinking it was time to move things along now that they knew they had a set timeframe.

 _“Before the fighting started, Sarge had us store a whole lot of explosives in a ground transport just in case of an emergency.”_ Jensen’s voice came on to explain, _“I think I left the engine on, so you can tell which one it is!”_

 _“This is why no one really likes you getting near vehicles.”_ Bitters was muttering from further away.

 _“Actually, Jensen having done that now is a blessing in disguise since it means the transport will be easy to find.”_ Volleyball was quick to come to her friend’s defense.

 _“Not to mention they won’t have to wait for it to warm up in this weather.”_ Matthews stated as well.

Bitters sighed: _”Fine.”_

 _“Moving things along, there’s a weak spot in the shielding sealing us in at a lower level of the base, on its right side.”_ He hadn’t heard her in a while, but Grif recognized Agent Carolina’s voice from when she had inadvertently helped save his ass awhile back in the Slums and from when he’d been recovering from his injuries at Simmons’ house just a short while ago, _“Wyoming can give you the exact coordinates.”_

Grif put two and two together just then, “So if we drive the transport through this weak spot—”

 _“The high amount of explosive materials in it should blast a hole right through!”_ Simmons finished his thought for him, both nervous and excited all at once.

 _“Then we all just push into that hole as best we can, even if it’s a tight fit!”_ Donut followed through.

 _“We don’t have much time before the explosion happens.”_ Sarge remarked, _“So we’ll be heading there pronto.”_

“Understood.” Doyle stated, “We’ll get that transport ready.”

_“Much obliged.”_

Gamma flickered for a moment, and then Delta’s voice came through the air.

 _“We heard the plan as well.”_ The A.I. Fragment stated calmly, though it sounded like a very large firefight was going on around him, _“It is the most logical one given current circumstances.”_

In the background, voices that sounded like North, York, Tex, and Kimball were shouting. But, it was vague and hard-to-pick-out what they were saying. He could almost hear that asshole Felix gloating about something though, and one really loud female voice he couldn’t quite place above the rest.

Kimball pulled back from the fighting for a moment to say something close to the A.I., _“We’re going to try to keep our keep comm-links silent so that the soldiers don’t realize what we’re planning, but everyone should move to the weak point as soon as possible. Don’t worry about us and just go!”_

Another flicker of Gamma’s form, and suddenly Theta was talking.

 _“I had Blue Team listening in too!”_ The childlike A.I. Fragment remarked cheerfully, _“North asked me to help bring them up to speed.”_

 _”Fuck yeah!”_ Tucker’s voice came through then too, _“He’s always an awesome help!”_

Junior perked up at the sound of his father’s voice, “Honk?”

 _“Hey, Junior!”_ Tucker’s voice couldn’t contain the grin he was no doubt flashing for his kid’s sake, _“We’ll be back soon once we light this sucker up!”_

 _“We have a bit more ground to cover to reach the exit point, but we’ll be there soon as well.”_ C.T. stated, _“We’ll also try and see if we can’t provide assistance to Kimball’s team along the way too.”_

Whether or not Kimball would argue that point was uncertain, given how their side of the conversation had gone silent no doubt due to the pressure to keep fighting with Hargrove’s forces.

 _“Hey, bro!”_ Kai’s voice sprang out, though she sounded slightly winded as if she was in the middle of running, _“I only got part of that because I wasn’t really paying attention, but we’re kicking ass!”_

Grif groaned, “Just get to the goddamned extraction point as soon as you can, Kai!”

 _“You can’t tell me what to do, asshole!”_ His little sister was so sticking her tongue out at him, _“But we’ll be there, no worries.”_

There was a slight pause then, before she spoke up a little more awkwardly and low, _“Just don’t do anything really dumb like still be in the car when it explodes, okay?”_

The tan man couldn’t help but smile a bit at the worry in her voice, “I can make that deal, so long as you’re not in the building when it blows up either.”

 _“See you guys soon then.”_ Tucker finished the conversation for their side as well, no doubt due to having to focus on staying on the move.

Which just left them back with Red Team.

 _“Well, best to not dilly-dally then.”_ Sarge remarked with a sigh, _“Let’s get to that exit point. Hopefully we’ll be able to shoot some no-good mercenaries along the way!”_

Church let out a sigh, apparently relieved at not having to be a living radio anymore, _“Fucking finally!”_

There was the sound of movement from that line, but for some reason the comm-link was still active. It only took a few seconds to figure out why.

 _“H—hey, Grif?”_ It was Simmons again.

Grif could hear Church grumbling something in the background, but apparently he wasn’t a jerk enough to simply sever the link on his teammate.

“Yeah, Simmons?”

It was weird communicating like this. Grif actually wanted to go and find the transport because they really didn’t have a ton of time, but he didn’t want to just leave Simmons hanging there either. It was an odd conflict of emotions he didn’t exactly have the time or luxury to dwell on now.

There was a pause and an awkward shuffle from the cyborg’s end, _“Be careful, asswipe. Don’t die.”_

He couldn’t help but smile, “Same to you, kiss-ass. Try not to get shot before the rescue gets there.”

Then the line closed out completely, leaving the group of six standing there awkwardly as the immense pressure of a very volatile and timed situation loomed over all of their heads.

“So, who will be driving?” Wyoming remarked just then as he glanced at Junior, “I doubt this little one here could even reach the controls, so he’ll be staying.”

“Blarg!” Junior glared at him angrily but apparently agreed with the Freelancer’s sentiment, stewing over how unfair it was.

“Niner is best served staying here to pilot this ship.” The mercenary deduced, “Which leaves…”

The Above Grounder trailed off as he turned to Doyle and Grif.

“Ah, so you’re not volunteering then?” Four Seven Niner asked before he could finish his thought.

“I did my part by helping to set up this whole plan.” Wyoming explained with a shake of his head, “Quite a bit of this has been at considerable loss of profits as it stands. If this whole thing fails, I can always just get a job for another Council member provided my association in this matter remains under the radar.”

“Pragmatic as always.” The female pilot didn’t seem to have too much of an opinion on his reasoning either way.

Doyle looked nervous but stepped forward anyways, “I don’t really know anything about driving transports in this weather or terrain, but—”

“I’ll do it.”

All of them turned to look at Grif then, the chubby man already heading back towards the open ramp.

“B—but your injuries!” Doyle tried protesting.

It was really bad timing just then when a sharp pain stabbed at Grif from his left side, but he gritted his teeth and tried not to make it too noticeable.

“If you die, we’ll lose a really big chance at getting peace with the Council when this is all over with.” The Resistance fighter reasoned instead, “So, you need to stay here and make sure none of these guys get into trouble.”

“But—!”

Grif tried looking nonchalant as he interrupted whatever protest the older man was going to throw is way, “Besides, once I get into the transport, all I really have to do is sit and try not to bleed all over the place until I get to the wall. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

*****

Okay, so _maybe_ the reality was a little harder than what he had tried selling to Doyle and the others. Getting to said vehicle hadn’t even been the most difficult part, though that was certainly tricky given the terrain he had to cover.

Grif offered a silent note of thanks for Jensen having left the damn thing on though, because seeing the slight puff of smoke from the machine and hearing the hum of the vehicle helped him figure out where it was in the icy conditions of Sidewinder. Plus, the bulky crates it contained pretty much everywhere save the driver’s seat was another big giveaway.

No, getting into the car while moving a few pieces of volatile material out of the way for good measure, then heading shakily and unsteadily down the mountain towards where the base had proven to provide a shitload of difficulty.

The Resistance fighter had to give the crazy old man credit though with just how efficiently he had packed the transport to the brim with lethal explosives. There was surely enough in it to have Caboose exclaiming about fireworks for years to come. Yes, when Sarge wanted to blow shit up, he _really_ wanted to blow shit up.

Grif was fairly certain there was no way in hell that type of storing or shipping of that number of explosives was remotely legal in either the Slums or Above Ground. Not that he was going to be complaining about his sergeant’s obvious love for destruction at this point when it was, ironically enough, probably what was going to help save everyone for once.

The pain medication had also been steadily wearing off as time progressed ever since Wyoming had shown up. Flares and spikes of agony were shooting into Grif’s body at an increasing rate any time he so much as moved a certain way, which hadn’t helped the trek to the transport any.

Or that time when a sudden jolt on the less-than-smooth ground as he was driving caused him to bite down on his lips to keep from shouting. Also, eyes that kept tearing up were bitches to deal with when you were wearing a helmet too.

As far as Grif’s joke to Doyle about not bleeding everywhere while he sat in the driver’s seat was concerned?

Well, beyond maybe a few drops that leaked through his gloves onto the steering wheel or the joints at his arms that splashed a bit on the seat underneath him, the tan man didn’t really think he was bleeding _everywhere_ in the transport.

But, the Slums dweller was fairly certain given the wetness at certain points in his body that accompanied particularly sharp jolts of movement-induced pain, he probably wouldn’t be wanting to clean either the inside of his armor or his under-suit after this was said and done.

Focusing too much on his shitty condition though, and how it was probably really stupid for him to be out in the first place given his injured state wasn’t going to help matters any. Grif _had_ to do this.

He owed his friends far too much to just sit back and do nothing while they were left to die, especially given what all of them had set out to do. If even more than just a little discomfort helped him pay them back slightly, it would be worth it.

The bodies littering the ground around the base upon approaching it were more than just a little disconcerting, and his alertness at the notion that he was now very close to where a lot of dangerous shit was going down helped his mind dull the agony it was still in a little bit.

Most of the fallen looked like Above Ground military types or their mercenary allies, though he recognized a few armors that belonged to Resistance fighters who had been with Kimball and the three Freelancers during their main diversionary tactic.

Grif tried not to dwell on them too much. There would be time to mourn and reminisce once everyone who was left was safely out to do so. They’d _all_ deserved that chance though, and it sucked that far too few of them would be getting it.

The base itself, any portion of it that seemed remotely man-made, was covered with what looked like a thick wall of metal. He recognized the material as the type that a lot of the mining equipment in the Slums used. It was meant to last a good long while, so that upkeep wasn’t always a constant need every few days.

They had definitely not been kidding about sealing everyone inside.

It almost made Grif wonder just how that asshole Felix would react when he learned that doing so also meant he was stuck in the same “ _about to get blown to bits_ ” situation as the rest of them thanks to Red Team having gotten to the relic. But, imagining psychotic mercenaries throwing temper tantrum rage fits would have to wait.

Who knew how long everyone had left with the relic about to blow? For all Grif knew, the conversation from earlier and his slower-than-he’d-wanted-it-to-be trek to the vehicle, and subsequent drive here, had wasted way too much time already.

He had to hand it to Wyoming. Despite his the huge amount of distrust Grif had for the former Freelancer given all of the shit he had pulled in the Slums, the white-armored mercenary had been pretty specific when it came to giving him the location of the weak spot in the metal shield.

It was supposedly just slightly hidden on the lower right side of the base, near a rock outcropping that kept the spot somewhat shielded from view due to the Above Ground military’s desire to keep their more secretive bases concealed from prying eyes.

His orange helmet’s display screen focused in on a lower portion of the sealed wall there, right by the outcropping, and he knew he had found the spot.

Grif frowned, and undid the safety belt from around his body before his hands went up again to grip the wheel tightly, his body tense and shaking. This was not exactly one of the sanest things he’d ever done, that’s for sure. But there were not too many other options right now.

Since the shielding meant he had no way of communicating with anyone stuck inside the base without an A.I. present, and Wyoming had been pretty adamant that his and Gamma’s part in this whole venture was currently done with, Grif had no way of knowing if anyone was waiting for him there yet or not.

For all the tan man knew, it would just be a large group of enemy soldiers lying in wait instead. But, it wasn’t like he really had the time to dwell too much on those possibilities. What was most important, after all, was blowing a fucking hole through the wall that very second.

Gritting his teeth, he gunned the transport forward with more force than he’d ever used when driving before. His brain wasn’t even having enough time to really register _how fucking crazy this was, he was going to hit and die and—!_

Grif managed to jump at the last second, nearly careening his head into the outcropping in the process.

Pain exploded everywhere in his body as the heat and the force of the blast hit him head on. He rolled backwards due to the explosion, until his back hit the outcropping and stopped his momentum. Stars and white light shot through his eyes just then, and he tasted copper in his mouth.

But sure enough, beyond the burned out hunk of metal that remained of the car still filling the air with acrid smoke, the sight of the _best fucking hole_ there ever was greeted him.

Donut could praise his phrasing all he wanted, and Grif wouldn’t even fucking roll his eyes for once.

He wanted to close his eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling both aching all over and also way too tired. But, the even better sight of his teammates, his _friends_ suddenly filling his vision made him rethink just going to sleep for once.

Red Team had made it to the spot. Grif knew that Kimball and her group, along with Blue Team, were coming later from what they had said. He thought of Tucker and the others, and of Kai, as he hoped it was sooner rather than later.

Sarge stopped short of the doorway on the opposite side of the space, leaning back out and firing at something before heading further inside. It looked like the group had been followed, and they were trying to make a stand at the spot now that it was their one secure safe route for everyone else who would come through later.

The lieutenants headed to the hole, taking cover behind some crates to shoot at any enemy troops that tried following. Lopez had taken position near Sarge, covering the older soldier. Donut and Doc had both looked past the wreckage when they entered the space, Donut pointing to where Grif lay and motioning to the purple medic.

It looked as if Doc was trying to get over to him despite the gunfire holding them back near the lieutenants, the pink-armored Red Team member covering for him and the newer recruits with a few well-placed grenade tosses. Grif was never sure he was brave enough to ask where the dirty blond actually kept those things.

As for Simmons, the redhead had drifted over from helping Sarge and Lopez to the lieutenants in order to check on them, offering protective fire when he could for both the rookies as well as Doc and Donut.

He turned at the group’s gesturing, evidently seeing Grif there.

Simmons and Doc nodded to each other, and then they were moving closer to the opening while Donut remained behind to help support the lieutenants.

Despite the loud cacophony going on all around them that was pretty much drowning everything out, suddenly above all of that there was an impossibly loud, horrible explosive noise that came from just behind Red Team as more mercenaries flooded into the room.

The sound of even more gunfire filled the space. Simmons _fell_ , propelled face first onto the ground as a bullet pierced the back of his maroon armor.

_“Just don’t die or something trying. Okay, asshole?”_

_“You too, fat-ass.”_

Grif was trying to get up then, crawling on the snow and over bits of metal and flaming wreckage. Even from where he was, he could clearly see that Simmons wasn’t moving.

_“Be careful, asswipe. Don’t die.”_

_“Same to you, kiss-ass. Try not to get shot before the rescue gets there.”_

Time seemed to be crawling to a horrific numbing halt, even when before it seemed to be going way too fucking fast.

_Level One was on fire._

_A knife was flashing across his skin so many times he’d lost count._

_Kai was crying, Simmons was crying…_

_Simmons wasn’t there._

_The world was ending and Grif couldn’t fucking_ breathe.

This is _fucking bullshit_!

He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten enough oxygen in his lungs again, but Grif began to scream the only thought raging in his head. The copper taste in his mouth burned down his throat as he did so, and he wasn’t totally sure that he hadn’t been shot himself with the sharp pain in his chest.

_“SIMMONS!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the horrible cliffhanger ending of this chapter! 0_0;
> 
> Only one more chapter after this one and an epilogue before this very long saga is finished, so please refrain from killing me until after that if you can! Hopefully you can spare me long enough to close this story out even though I can’t say more because SPOILERS!
> 
> I apologize for how long it took to get this chapter out in general too. There were parts of it that I struggled with when writing (but I hope it all reads okay still!), and I then decided I wanted to make this chapter a longer one to make up for how long it took to get out. This definitely ended up being my biggest chapter so far, so I hope that that at least makes up a little bit for the wait!
> 
> Since I was way too mean with the ending to this chapter, and I really do only have two more sections to go in order to conclude everything, I will do my best to try to get the next chapter and the epilogue out as quickly as I can so you all are not having to wait too long to see what will happen with everyone!
> 
> So expect a whole lot of stuff to go down, but I can’t tell you what exactly because, again, SPOILERS! ♥
> 
> Thank you for putting up with me and this story! You will have definitely not seen the last of me here once “AG” is over with though, since I have my longer new story to jump into afterwards and I will be posting oneshots and other stories too. Gah, I am sorry again about that cliffhanger though! I shall try to make it up to you all, I promise! :D


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Oddly enough, the bullets flying past Vanessa Kimball’s head were the least of her worries at the moment. Yes, currently she was well aware that things were very, very bad.

Their group had been pinned down by Felix and his cohorts almost within seconds. The very moment that they had entered this particular space, the mercenaries’ trap had been sprung.

The only thing that had kept them from getting killed right away had been the fact that their adversaries were also thrown off by the sudden quaking. The shaking had been a blessing in disguise for Kimball’s group, as it had provided the Resistance fighters with the time they needed to desperately run for cover wherever they could find it.

Unfortunately, not all of them had made it due to this scenario’s odds still being overwhelmingly not in their favor.

The other Resistance members who had made it this far ( _too few, damn it!_ ) collapsed amid the fierce onslaught of bullets that had accompanied the exclamation of pure _rage_ that came from Felix. There was almost a bittersweet satisfaction in Kimball’s knowledge that the wailing of the self-destruct sequence initiating throughout the base was just as bad news to the mercenaries as it was to them.

The thought of Felix being shown up given how much of a manipulative bastard he was would have probably been something of a _pleasure_ for her any other day. However, having it happen at the expense of more of her fellow fighters, men and women that she had worked beside endlessly with and considered close comrades… _friends_ even, was not what she had wanted.

How many Resistance fighters _did_ they have left, really? In the back of her mind, Kimball thought it best not to dwell on it.

It wasn’t as if she had a whole lot of time to process even her grief right now. Not with the clock still counting down relentlessly.

And certainly not with their group being the only ones left diverting this section of enemies’ attention away from the other fighters in the building. Hopefully the others were making their way towards their best bet for escape.

The dark-haired woman hoped that Blue Team was able to figure out a way down to the lower levels that would circumvent this floor completely. The Resistance needed the data they had retrieved to stop this pointless war once the relic was gone.

She hoped that Red Team would be able to get to the exit point without much difficulty too. Sarge and the others deserved to get out safely for a job well done.

In reality, Kimball just didn’t want to see anymore of her friends die. She’d lost far too many of them already.

“Something the matter, Felix?” She heard York calling out almost jovially at the rage the mercenary was clearly still displaying, “Seems like you’re a little disappointed your plan isn’t going as well as you’d hoped.”

“You assholes think you’re so clever, don’t you?” The orange-trimmed mercenary snarled, shooting at York who deftly dodged the bullet at the last second.

It had been way too close for comfort though as far as Kimball was concerned. Felix was moving fast as his comrades supplied cover fire, weaving in closer to the remaining fighters amidst the heavy sea of carnage going on around them as if it was nothing.

Felix obviously wanted a crack at killing them face-to-face if he could for this setback: “You’re stuck in here, and you’re still going to fucking _die_ no matter what!”

Perhaps the mercenary was right, but hopefully not all of them would. _If the assessment on the weak point in the shielding had been accurate…_ Kimball bit down on her lower lip and rolled out of cover just then, taking out two of the mercenaries in one go and directing Felix’s attention towards her instead of York.

No need to fill Felix in on _that_ part of the equation.

“Maybe, but at least the Slums won’t be destroyed!” She shouted, “Hargrove’s plan will fail.”

“ _Still_ trying to look on the bright side and playing the self-sacrificing hero, Vanessa?” Felix remarked incredulously, a bullet grazing the armor of her shoulder from his gun, “By this point you are just one _sad_ broken record.”

The dark-haired mercenary had drawn his knife out, colliding into her as she attempted to adjust to nearly losing her footing. The force knocked her down just as the blade made its way towards the weaker point in the armor by her throat.

“Haven’t you figured out that your fucking _home_ isn’t even worth saving?” Felix jeered while looking down at her.

Kimball had her own gun jabbed into his chest, which was the only reason why he hadn’t been able to find the right angle to carry through with his intended motion of slicing through her neck. The freelancer was hesitating because a bullet at this range was sure to do damage if she pulled a shot off.

Also, probably because he was an asshole who loved the sound of his own voice.

The Resistance leader ignored his obvious attempt to unnerve her, instead figuring that it was as good a time as any to rub his own failings in his face, “Matter of perspective, I guess.” She sneered, “But why waste time catching up with ‘ _old friends_ ’ when there are other things you should probably be doing?”

When he didn’t respond right away, Kimball pressed on, “Given that the self-destruct sequence is running, removing the shielding and getting out of here would be a better usage of your time, wouldn’t it?”

“You _would_ like that, wouldn’t you? Us scrambling to save ourselves and letting you losers free to escape in the process?” Felix asked speculatively, the knife inching down further, “Sorry to burst your bubble, Vanessa, but we have plenty of time to deal with you _and_ still get out.”

He had to jump back to keep York’s fist from smashing through his visor just then, Kimball kicking upwards as he did so to further cause the steel and orange armored soldier to lose his balance.

Two bullets from the Dakota siblings fired in tandem from opposite sides of the space just as Felix was trying to reposition himself, only a quick flaring to life of his energy shield preventing serious injury. The twins glanced at each other, whatever look they shared just then completely unreadable to anyone else—though they both gave a barely perceptible nod to the other.

“If _that’s_ the fucking best you’ve got, I’d reassess that last thought if I were you, Felix.” Tex muttered just then as she joined the group, picking up his knife from where it had fallen to the floor.

She tossed it in the air once, caught it by the handle, and then _slammed_ it all the way up to the hilt into the metal wall close by. There were visible cracks splintering around it due to the force.

“Holy shit.” York muttered under his breath at the action they had just witnessed, “I am _seriously_ sorry for any future thing I might do to _ever_ piss you off. One hundred percent.”

“You’re in love with Carolina.” Tex was smirking under her helmet, “Don’t bother trying to deny you’re a glutton for punishment now.”

Whatever other jovial banter the two friends may have gotten into just then as the sibling Freelancers started moving over to where they were was lost with another of Felix’s shouts of rage.

“I have had it!” He bellowed, face no doubt a dark grimace under his helmet, “I don’t care if I fucking die along with you, but none of you are getting out of here alive!”

“The old ‘ _If I’m going down, I’m taking you all with me_ ’ routine?” York asked in mild amusement, “That sounds pretty familiar, doesn’t it, D?”

The green A.I. flickered to life at his shoulder, “It does seem to be a mindset many of our adversaries display, yes.” He agreed.

“Walking right into the fucking clichés by this point.” South muttered as Kimball stood up, waving away the hand that Tex had offered to her a second ago.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk, South.” York couldn’t help but joke despite how hesitant he still was with his former teammate, squinting his thumb and forefinger together for added emphasis, “Considering how you’re pretty much _this_ close to being an evil twin stereotype.”

Surprisingly, South didn’t get mad at the jab, seeming more amused by the remark than anything else, “Better that than being some old Earth sci-fi rogue hero reject.”

The banter was odd, given how tense things had been between them before. Perhaps fighting together for their lives had simply brought their old dynamic back to the surface, albeit only temporarily.

For only a second, things were comradely before that tense atmosphere fell amongst the Freelancers again. It was if they remembered just then _why_ South hadn’t been present with them in the Resistance before. It ended when York shifted awkwardly away and South turned with an angry huff towards their opponents once again.

“Enough of this _bullshit_. I am done playing nice.” Felix remarked, suddenly pulling back to rejoin the other Above Ground soldiers and mercenaries.

Only a small handful of their opponents had actively engaged the group directly following the shielding being activated, though with their wanton usage of firepower it had been hard to discern that until things had quieted down.

It all made sense now as Kimball realized why that was: smaller Above Ground assault droids had been maneuvered into the branching corridors and doorways of the main entrance, all while they’d been focused on Felix and the others that had been firing at them.

Standing on all sides of those mechs were soldiers set up with _equally_ heavy firepower.

The Slums resident suddenly got the impression of someone shooting fish in a barrel and very much wished she hadn’t.

“Oh, fuck.” York summed things up rather succinctly just then, and she couldn’t help the slight nod she gave him in response.

“Normally, this kind of overkill is a bit too much even for me.” Felix remarked, now once again cocky after seeing their reactions to the new development, “But, you guys have _really_ pissed me off. So, what the Hell?”

He brought his hand down then just as Kimball shouted ” _TAKE COVER!_ ” at the top of her lungs. Everything all around them suddenly burst into a cacophony of bullets and explosives.

*****

Leonard Church supposed there could be _stupider_ ways to die than heading straight into what was most likely a room where everyone was probably opening fire on everyone else.

Oh, scratch that. He _knew_ there was.

Fuck it, he was pretty sure that if he ever managed to talk to Caboose again, the younger man would be more than happy to come up with a few ways that Church hadn’t even thought of yet.

But, still, this _was_ pretty dumb regardless.

Especially since Red Team, Doc, and Simmons were making their way to the exit point now to help keep it secure. The self-preservationist in him wanted to do the same. Particularly since, by doing so, maybe it meant that he could actually help guarantee that somehow some of them would make it out alive if nothing else.

 _Fuck_. The Above Grounder had even told the crazy old guy in red armor when he’d wanted to have everyone come along with them that making sure they had a secure way out was the most important thing their group could do right now.

He wasn’t wrong with that assessment, and Sarge had actually agreed to it as well despite how argumentative he could be about having ” _kickass_ ” battle strategies.

But, naturally, Carolina was planning on being her damn reckless self and going back for the others once she knew there would be people to help hold the line.

She always had to make things _fucking_ difficult.

As for Church himself? Well, to say he was anywhere close to being as kickass as his cousin was an understatement. He was fucking awesome compared to everyone else, but let’s be real about which one of them would always come out on top. Still, he had _promised_ he would stay with her this whole time and he planned to stick by that.

Not to mention, there were some other people still on the upper levels he would be really upset if he didn’t try to save. To then rub it in their faces later, of course.

Sheila. Grey. Kimball. Some of those younger Resistance fighters with the one older dude who was stuck with them. A few of Carolina’s former Freelancer buddies, including Washington and York. That cocky asshole Tucker. Caboose and his talking gun. Theta, and Delta…

…And Tex too.

Yeah, after this? They’d all better be fucking _grateful_ he was so goddamned helpful.

So, while Red Team was holding down the fort so to speak, he and Carolina were making their way up the floors again. With Carolina out front and leading the charge and clearing a path, all Church pretty much had to do was get out of the way of the enemies she was dropping in her wake.

He knew there were still _more_ of the Above Ground soldiers and mercenary assholes in the lower levels who were in pursuit of the Resistance fighters.

The A.I. hoped that they wouldn’t get overwhelmed on their way to the exit point. He also hoped that a certain fucking _asshole_ hadn’t gotten caught up in replaying his Allison videos and forgot to lock his door. Otherwise they would all be in deep shit.

Eventually, they had backtracked to the area where the two of them, along with that know-it-all Gamma and his buddy Wyoming, had entered the facility from.

Church ignored the armored bodies on the floor, rather surprised by the sudden lack of enemy troops. That was, until he heard _it_.

The sound of horribly loud, _banging_ above them. It was like the sound of metal ricocheting off of metal. There was a cacophony of what sounded like faraway voices yelling in a jumbled mess along with it, amongst more explosions and gunfire than he could even figure out the exact numbers of.

The Above Grounder tensed.

“They’re fucking right above us, aren’t they?” He hissed to Carolina.

She nodded, eyes never leaving the ceiling overhead. Or, more specifically, the vent she was regarding.

“So, we’re going to go through the vents the rest of the way?” Church asked, catching the direction of her glance.

All things considered, he figured that wasn’t too bad of a plan. So long as there weren’t a shitload of enemies standing on top of whatever grate they would try opening up. It would certainly be smarter than, say, trying any of the obvious doors or lifts that would most likely be heavily guarded by this point.

“Yes, Church.” The redhead was regarding him carefully, “Though, actually, I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Church tilted his head to the side quizzically, “Are you going to want me to give you a boost up there or something?”

She gave him a look just then that he could pretty accurately describe as “ _Don’t be an idiot_ ” even with her helmet on.

“Well, even with you being super-strong, I doubt you’d give me a boost up since I’m in a robotic body and all…” his voice trailed off at the way she tilted her head, and he put two and two together about what she was actually suggesting, “ _No._ ”

There was no _way_ he was ditching his body right now!

“Church.” Carolina’s voice broached no room for argument, which made sense given the situation they were currently in, “We don’t have time to argue.”

“But, if I leave it here what’s to say it won’t get shot up or fucking blown up?” He argued.

He _liked_ having a full-fledged body at the ready when he needed one. This whole A.I. situation was _still_ a lot for him to get used to.

“Hopefully it will be here when we come back through.” His cousin remarked, voice taking on a slightly impatient tone, “But, let’s be honest, do you really think you’d be able to jump up here without help yourself?”

Church frowned and said nothing. She took that as a cue to continue.

“Besides, would you want shooting to be your main contribution?”

Well, _fuck_. She probably did have him there.

Church sighed, “ _Fine_ , but if it gets wrecked you’re totally buying me a new one.”

“Sure.” From the tone of her voice he figured the Freelancer was rolling her eyes at him, “Because robotic bodies that are that realistic are _so_ easy to come by.”

The dark-haired man wasn’t sure if he necessarily liked that Carolina was attempting more humor these days or not.

She noticed his regard and patted his shoulder in a placating fashion, “I’ll see what I can do, Church.”

Yeah, that was pretty much as close to a reassurance as he was going to get.

With a long-suffering sigh, Church exited his robotic body, watching as the figure in cobalt armor collapsed in a heap on the floor.

He was hovering right in front of Carolina then, who gave him a nod of thanks before looking up at the vent once more.

“Okay, so how do we—?“

He was cut off by her suddenly opening fire, the vent giving way once its fastenings were hit.

The heavy grate crashed to the floor, the loud noise resounding through the space. Even in his digital form, Church couldn’t help but wince at how _close_ the thing fell near his body.

“Hey!” The A.I. glared at his cousin.

Carolina shrugged apologetically, “I told you I’d see what I could do if something happened to it.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t give you permission to squish it!”

Apparently Church’s incredulity wasn’t worth commenting on, as Carolina promptly moved into a squatting position and fucking _jumped_ right through the new hole into the ventilation shaft above.

Church gaped, fairly positive there would have been no way he could have done that even with his artificial legs.

“Don’t dawdle, Church.” Her voice chided from somewhere up above.

Church shook his head. Carolina was a freaking showoff, no doubt about it, but at least this way he wouldn’t have to struggle to climb up there himself.

The Above Grounder supposed leaving his body behind in order to save face _was_ a good idea in a way.

“Here.” Church joined her in the dim lighting of the smaller space in-between levels.

The ventilation shaft was actually a bit larger than he’d suspected initially, with enough room for Carolina to almost stand up completely in, though she did have to bend slightly to avoid her helmet scraping the top. The A.I. supposed the size was due to this spot separating the upper and lower portions of the facility, and he understood now why she had picked it out as their point of entry.

If they got to the others, it would make an ideal shortcut back to the lower levels.

They walked for a bit, the ceiling above shaking slightly with whatever powerful impacts were happening above them. But, the floor was thick and well-constructed, so it wasn’t as if they were in danger of the space collapsing.

The sounds of shouting and fighting were louder here but still muted, also demonstrating how thick the walls must be.

Carolina stopped abruptly looking up at what appeared to be a door just a few meters in front and above them. Another vent grate, this one obviously sealed.

“I’m pretty sure this leads to an office right by the main entrance.” She remarked.

Church nodded, remembering the schematics they’d looked at earlier of the place, “Yeah.”

She glanced at his glowing form, “Ready to join the party?”

He scoffed, “ _Please_. Like it could really be called one until _we_ get there.”

This time around, the green-eyed woman allowed him to enter into the maintenance control panel by the grate instead of blasting the thing off its hinges like before.

It only took a few seconds for him to figure out how to open the thing. Then he was rejoining Carolina as she moved into action, jumping upwards into the space above.

There were some enemy soldiers at the door, but by the time they were just starting to turn around to face them Carolina had fired and all three were dropping. She sped past their bodies and out into the hallway.

There were more soldiers and what appeared to be an assault droid turning from opening fire into the large entrance hall beyond towards them just as Carolina dove into their midst, altering shots with physical kicks. Church dove into the droid temporarily, kicking it offline while she fired a blow into its weak spot.

The Kimball lady, Delta, North, York, and Tex were in the entrance area. It appeared as if they were still cut off from them at the moment by one huge ass wall of heavy artillery.

Oh, _fuck_! Even that one jackass lady who had shot him before was there. Not to mention that stupid mercenary dick in steel and orange too.

It seemed that Church and Carolina’s actions just then caused a momentary ceasefire of sorts, as all eyes turned to see what had happened. So, while everyone was still momentarily gaping at their fucking awesome entrance, Church couldn’t help but do what he did best without even trying.

He _owned_ it.

“What’s up, assholes?” The A.I. called out loudly, “We _better_ be getting a goddamned thank you for this!”

*****

Thanks to fucking _Locus_ of all people, Blue Team had a rather quick and oddly uneventful trip down to the main floor.

Sure, there had been the occasional guard to dispatch here and there before word got out that they were coming to majorly crash a party, but it was nowhere near a real hindrance to their progress. Which was definitely a good thing as far as Lavernius Tucker was concerned given the time crunch they were in, especially if the sirens blaring loudly overhead were any indication.

Judging from just how loudly frequent the sounds of gunfire could be heard below with each floor they descended, and how by the time they had reached the fifth floor or so from the main entrance level the space was actually _vibrating_ around them, there was definitely a major party going on the bottom level.

Just another flight of stairs and they were there. Tucker, Wash, and C.T. were at point as the door opened to the level where shit was apparently going down.

As it turned out, the particular stairwell they were in was apparently a bit farther away from the main lobby entrance where so many of the enemy fire was focused. There were only two guards standing by it, and both were quickly dealt with thanks to a quick jab from Tucker’s sword and a well-aimed knife toss from C.T.

Just a little farther away, there seemed to be a commotion in the corridors beyond.

Wash signaled for the group to move forward carefully. The others still seemed to be putting up a fucking amazing fight, so if they could just get to them and find a way out then—

“Yo. It took you losers long enough to get here.” Leonard Church’s voice suddenly spoke up as he materialized directly in front of them.

“Oh, Church! Hello!” Caboose exclaimed, “Did you come for the party too?”

“Yeah. It’s been fucking awesome.” Church was probably rolling his eyes underneath his helmet. If he had them, at any rate. Tucker didn’t know enough about tiny digital people to say for certain either way.

“I don’t know, man. In my experience, the best kinds of parties are the ones you tend to not walk away from.” Tucker joked back, “If you get my drift.”

“Oh, yeah! Those parties are awesome!” Kai chimed in on cue, “Especially the ones that are so good you can’t walk straight for days following them!”

Tucker swore he heard Wash inwardly groan. The Resistance fighter couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.

“Yeah, yeah…wait, what?” Church was regarding Kai with open disbelief.

“We don’t really have time for this, and I’m not even going to bother trying to get a straight answer from you about what you and Carolina have been up to.” Wash interjected, apparently desperate to get some semblance of sanity flowing into the situation once more, “What exactly is the situation?”

“Pretty fucked, but we have it covered.” Church responded, and things must have been rather serious since he didn’t respond to Wash with any kind of angry retort, “Carolina is helping out Kimball and the others. We have an exit close by that you should use to get to the extraction point.”

The A.I. flickered and appeared by a doorway to what looked like an office space. There were bodies and wrecked assault droids close by, and further up ahead for a moment there was a flash of cyan followed by loud shouts and gunfire.

Inside the office area was a vent hatch in the floor that had been left open.

“You travel through the vent until you find the gaping hole in the floor because my cousin has massive unresolved anger issues.” Church explained to them.

“What about North and the others?”

It was Theta who spoke up just then, the worry in his voice quite apparent. The little guy had been so quiet during the run through the upper levels after joining up with them that Tucker had nearly forgotten he was still with them.

“We’ll try to follow through as soon as we can. Or find another way down.” Church remarked, looking seriously towards the smaller Fragment, “You should go with these guys, Theta.”

“But…” the purple-armored A.I. trailed off, although he looked ready to protest the notion given that North especially was still fighting.

“North wouldn’t want you getting caught up in shit if things go bad.” The other A.I. reasoned more gently and patiently than Tucker would usually give him credit for, “You’d be giving him a lot less to worry about out there.”

“I’m not a liability!” Theta tried arguing with a bit more fire to his protest this time.

Church brought his hands up in a placating manner, “No, but you _are_ a great help. One that _these_ assholes will seriously need to make it to the exit safely.” He glanced at Blue Team then rather uncaringly, “No offense.”

“None taken, tiny ghost sir!” Palomo spoke up, his voice still way too cheerful given the insult they had all been given just then, “My sense of direction _is_ pretty poor!”

“A little taken, actually.” Tucker chose to add in his own comment and ignore the eager private for now, huffing a bit when that earned him a middle finger from the small humanoid (although, really? That would have been _fucking hilarious_ in any other situation), “But you do make a good point on how helpful Theta is.”

“Having a guide would certainly improve our odds.” Andersmith added in, apparently picking up on what was going on and wanting to help.

“North would be really grateful that you helped make sure his friends got out safely.” C.T. spoke up as well, sharing a barely perceptible nod between Tucker and Andersmith.

Theta seemed to consider all of this for a moment before finally nodding his head, “All right.” He agreed, though the young A.I. Fragment still sounded slightly reluctant, “I’ll stay with you guys to help everyone, and for North too.”

Church actually seemed somewhat relieved, “Thanks, kiddo.” He remarked before turning to look at Blue Team in its entirety once more, “I’ll see you guys on the other side. Hopefully. And not the other side in the metaphorical sense or whatever.”

“You won’t be coming with us, Church?” Sheila, who had remained rather quiet even with the sudden appearance of her teammate and friend, spoke up just then, tilting her head to regard him quizzically.

Church shook his head regrettably, “Sorry, Sheila. But, I’m going to be sticking with Carolina for this. Just make sure Doc and Simmons get out okay.” He paused, looking rather uncomfortable before adding, “Oh, and your robot boyfriend too, I guess.”

“…I will, Church.” Sheila seemed to be struggling to come up with words, her voice almost breaking as she added, “Take care.”

“You too.” Church looked over the group again, “Oh, and you’ll probably stumble over my robot body on your way down.” He mentioned, “Do me a favor and not step on it or anything.”

“That would be a waste of a perfectly good specimen!” Doctor Grey sounded horrified by the very thought.

“Terrific.” Church muttered sarcastically, “If you guys had the time and wanted to drag it out for me too, that would be _awesome_.”

“We can’t make any promises, Church.” Wash cut in just then.

“Figured as much.” The Above Grounder sighed before waving once more, “Try to stay alive, jerks.”

Just like that, Church was gone. Most likely he had faded away to rejoin the battle being waged outside this spot.

A heavy silence fell amongst Blue Team for a moment, before all eyes went to Tucker as he took in a deep breath.

“All right, so what are we going to do?” The Slums dweller asked his team.

Wash looked at him incredulously, “That should be obvious.” He commented, taking a few steps towards the door to peer out into the hallway again while pointing to the open hatchway, “You are all going to be rejoining Red Team at the exit.”

The fact that he said “ _you_ ” instead of “ _we_ ” was definitely not lost on anyone. Tucker and C.T. in particular both exchanged knowing glances.

“Hold up.” Tucker stated quickly, “If you think we’re just going to abandon Kimball and the others—!“

“I wouldn’t think you would, but rushing out to get killed isn’t exactly a sound strategy.” Wash explained with a resigned sigh, “You’ll be ensuring that there is a clearer path for everyone once they’re able to break away from this fighting _and_ you’ll be helping to hold the exit point so that everyone will be able to make it out.”

“That is a sound strategy.” Sheila remarked quietly from behind, and Tucker winced inwardly because _fuck it_! Even though he didn’t like the idea he knew that too.

But, that still didn’t explain Wash’s actions and words, and that was making the Resistance fighter all sorts of nervous as well.

“C.T.,” Wash was talking again, his gun pointed at the door he had been inching towards this whole time, “Make sure they get there safely.”

“What _the fuck_ does that mean?!?”

The question had exploded from Tucker’s mouth at the very same moment that C.T.’s slightly calmer voice asked: “What exactly are you planning to do, Wash?”

Wash glanced back, “I’m evening the odds.” He informed them, “Locus had said he’d made Felix believe only one or two Resistance fighters made it to the upper levels, remember?”

Oh, yeah. Tucker _did_ recall the steel and green asshole saying something like that.

“So, if I go out to help the others I’m buying you guys time to slip away without them noticing.” The Above Grounder shrugged, “Plus, I’ll be providing Carolina and the others with more backup to help ensure that they can get out in time.”

Tucker was about to protest when Wash shook his head, voice adamant as he continued, “Which is _why_ it is very important that the rest of you keep that route open.”

“But, that’s—!“

Tucker stomped over to him, about to shout out how stupidly idiotic and suicidal that was given Wash’s earlier comments on why Blue Team had to go, when suddenly his wrist was grabbed by the blonde’s free hand and he was pulled into the older Freelancer’s personal space.

Tucker’s brain pretty much short-circuited at that point. He could barely hear the surprised gasps and wolf whistles from the others as Wash let go of his wrist to actually wrap his arm around Tucker’s waist, pressing the dark-skinned man into his personal space even _more_.

“Tucker.” There was an odd note in Wash’s voice, slightly husky and pleading all at once, “Just get out of here and survive. For Junior and for your friends.”

Then Wash was leaning his head in close to Tucker’s own until the foreheads of their helmets were touching. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity with Tucker’s only thoughts being to wonder if Wash could hear how loud his heart was pounding, if Wash had his eyes closed and if he should too then, and what the fuck exactly was going on…

Then, just as suddenly, Wash was pulling away from a very weak-kneed Tucker. The Freelancer pushed him backwards and right into C.T.’s waiting arms as she steadied her still-in-shock teal-armored teammate.

Wash spared them all one last glance, jerking his head towards the waiting hatch once more, before he was going back through the door.

By that point, Tucker was finally able to form a coherent question.

“What…the actual _fuck_?”

*****

So, things could _definitely_ be going better.

Oh, what the fuck! They could have definitely been going better years earlier. York supposed it was just hopeless naivety on his part to think that they’d get a break _now_ of all times.

Wishful thinking. He’d always been a sucker for that kind of thing. His parents had once joked it would get him killed some day, a sentiment often echoed by his friends.

As a spray of bullets came once more within centimeters of his face, the brunette tried really hard _not_ to dwell on it.

“On your left, York.” D’s voice came from next to him, and he turned without even really waiting to see exactly what he was aiming for before squeezing the trigger of his gun.

The mercenary fell to the ground with a crash. But, instead of York celebrating, an expletive formed in his mind at the sight of the assault droid’s presence directly behind his former adversary.

Unless one was armed with a heavy-powered weapon like a rocket launcher, about the only way to destroy a droid was in close combat. Given how it seemed to have him in its sights, there was no fucking way he’d get there now.

The Above Grounder fired off another shot that dinged uselessly against the heavy armor plating of the killing machine. He could hear Delta telling him to move to the right where there was still a bit of cover just as he heard the whir of the mech’s guns getting ready to _really_ fuck up his day.

Suddenly, and to his immense relief, there was a cyan blur directly in front of the droid.

Carolina’s gun jabbed right into the machine’s weak point as she let loose a very precise shot. The droid spluttered and sparked, shutting down completely as the Freelancer jumped out of the way.

The redhead was just in time too, as another of the killing machines suddenly crashed into that one, sending both pieces of scrap metal sliding across the floor with a painfully loud metallic screech and a shitload more sparks. The two droids conveniently bowling into a group of mercenaries who had been trying to use the distraction to set themselves up for taking the Resistance fighters out.

Carolina whirled around to see just who had helped her. Whatever expression was on her face at the sight of Agent Texas standing there with the droid’s mechanical arm still gripped tightly in her hand from when she’d tossed it earlier, was kept hidden due to her helmet.

York and Delta both glanced at one another, unsure of how this was going to play out.

Oddly enough, despite the battle still looming on around them, Tex’s stance seemed to relax somewhat.

“Carolina.” She greeted, tilting her head slightly in the other’s direction, “Church.”

It was then that the tiny, armored figure of Alpha materialized over Carolina’s shoulder as well.

“Hey, Tex.” He spoke up, voice sounding awkward, “We always meet in the strangest fucking places, huh?”

The black-armored figure shrugged, “Just makes things more memorable.”

There was a heavy silence following that. Well, that wasn’t technically true since there was still a _ton_ of noise going on all around them thanks to the fighting, but that was beside the point symbolically-speaking. It was if all three of them had a shitload to say to one another, but no idea where to even start.

York could relate in a way, particularly since it had been way too fucking long since he had last seen Carolina. Still, there was definitely a lot of other things they needed to be focusing on right now.

“So, um, yeah.” Church coughed, “We’ll definitely need to, uh, talk. Or something. After this.”

Tex nodded her head at that almost imperceptibly. She glanced at Carolina and Church once more before turning to leave, most likely to make some other poor mercenary and Above Ground bastards regret that they’d decided to come in to work today.

“It’s good see you again.” She muttered just then, “ _Both_ of you.”

Surprisingly, it was Carolina who actually responded to the woman’s comment.

“The same to you.” She said, her voice oddly strained but sincere, “Let’s make sure we all get out of here in one piece.”

“With the two of you out here and actually not trying to kill one another?” Church scoffed, “How could we _not_?”

Tex let out a sharp burst of laughter before she was moving across the floor again to help offer support to Kimball and North. Just as York was thinking things couldn’t get any weirder that day, there was a cyan glove hovering directly in front of his face.

“Might not be the best of times to be lost in daydreams, York.” Carolina advised, a joking tint to her voice.

The brunette decided that he liked that tone coming from her. He could listen to it every fucking day and never get bored of it if she’d let him.

The Above Grounder grasped onto both that thought and her hand like a fucking lifeline as she helped him back up onto his feet, “Can’t blame a guy for trying to wrap his head around that little exchange.” He joked back.

“You’d be better off wrapping it around the battle before you lose anymore of it.” She remarked, tapping on his visor near where his blind eye was.

York stuck his tongue out, “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure everyone _loves_ scars.”

“Only when they aren’t caused by carelessness.” Carolina chided before the moment was gone and she was spinning around again to take care of some encroaching mercenaries, “If you and Delta can help to somehow clear an opening the way Church and I came through, we have a way to the exit point.”

He glanced in the direction she had indicated, a whistle escaping from his lips as he did so.

It would be easier said than done, considering how Carolina had basically barreled her way through before.

“At least she took out the droids that were previously blocking the path.” Delta supplied helpfully, apparently picking up on what his partner was thinking.

“Yeah, but there’s still a wall of mercs between us and it.” York sighed, cracking his knuckles together and glancing around with the hope that he’d be getting some backup soon, “Oh, well. If it’s our best bet then let’s get to work, D!”

*****

Most definitely, there were a lot of ways that Washington had envisioned being finally taken out over the years.

He had often wondered if it would be in a skirmish with hostiles to Above Ground? Or with aliens? Or from Epsilon tearing his way through the blonde’s mind and trying to kill himself there, from the outpouring of memories that had threatened to consume who Washington even was?

Would his end possibly come from his own teammates and comrades stabbing him in the back? Because, for the longest time, the Freelancer had never been sure afterwards just who he could trust.

He had to admit though, buying time for the Resistance fighters and his own defected teammates hadn’t exactly been how he’d ever pictured his end.

But, if nothing else, he had _long_ since learned to deal with the unexpected.

Washington’s entry into the fight wasn’t as spectacular or eye-catching as one from Tex or Carolina would be. Let’s face it, it would be hard to top fighters who could pretty much take down fucking _tanks_ with their bare hands. But, at least he didn’t trip or get hit in the balls ( _long story, please don’t ask_ ), or anything else equally embarrassing as he was prone to do in his younger days.

He moved from behind the hallway out into the fighting very quickly and stealthily. Though, to be honest, he probably could have waltzed in loudly blaring a trumpet and no one would have noticed given the amount of chaos going on just then.

The Freelancer used whatever covers he could find as vantage points to take out some of the enemy troops or mechs that the others seemed to be having a harder time reaching from where they were. Or, at the very least, the sudden unknown firing on them was distracting said troops enough to _allow_ the others in the room the chance to get close enough to finish them off without being directly in their sights.

Not to mention, what he knew to be his _very_ temporary element of surprise also meant that he was able to assess the situation at hand and figure out just what was going on.

Carolina and Church had entered the fray a bit before him, and were proceeding to speedily race through the room to offer combat support wherever it was most needed. As was Tex, and the carnage the two female Freelancers were inflicting, working in tandem as they were now instead of against each other, was the stuff of both sheer awe and absolute nightmares.

York was holding his own with Delta’s assistance after having received a bit of aid from both Carolina and Tex earlier. The two partners were working as one, Delta telling York when someone was approaching and from where. The A.I. Fragment seemed to know just what to prioritize at a given moment, with York being the one to figure out exactly how best to do that. It was a system the two had perfected while in the program, and one that they seemed to have no difficulty picking up once more now that they had been reunited.

Kimball and North had taken up a position along the back wall, so that any hostiles had to come at them directly ahead instead of trying for a surprise assault from behind. Standing side-by-side, they were able to lay down cover fire for each other as well as pick off enemy soldiers and mercenaries who were getting too close to their already preoccupied comrades.

It was a solid strategic move, though staying out in the open like that _did_ have its disadvantages too. Such as a certain orange and steel armored mercenary being able to keep you in their sights more.

It looked to Washington as if Felix was practically _strolling_ across the battlefield towards the two of them, weaving in and out of the conflict and firing shots occasionally here and there simply to keep the others at bay.

The mercenary’s sights seemed dead set on Kimball, no doubt due to her position as the leader of the Resistance.

North and Kimball seemed to notice this as well, turning their attention to him just as other mercenaries seemed to read a silent cue to use the opportunity to sneak up also.

Just as Washington raced forward to meet them head on, a figure in orchid armor did the same. Steel armored bodies dropped to the floor as the two former Freelancers stood some distance between Felix and his target.

“Hey, Wash.” South called from just behind him, her voice snide, “Fancy seeing you here. Sure you want to be in front of me?”

“Given everything you’ve done, do you really think _now_ is a good time to bring that up?” The Above Grounder shot back incredulously.

South always had been known for her twisted sense of humor. Though it had become even more biting as the years progressed.

“Can’t blame me for trying to lighten the mood, can you?” She shrugged uncaringly as both her twin brother and Kimball nodded their thanks before focusing on some mechs that were currently closing in on Carolina’s position.

“Right. Reminding people that you shot North in the back _and_ took out Church while attempting to do the same to Carolina equates to lightening the mood.” Washington remarked sarcastically.

“They’re both fine now. More or less.” She stated indifferently.

He sighed, “What exactly are you doing here, South?”

“Same thing you are, I guess.” She glanced over at North then for only a split second, probably hoping Washington didn’t pick up on the gesture, “Trying to keep these assholes alive for reasons I still don’t fucking know myself.”

Washington frowned, but said nothing. Unlike South, he damn well knew why he wanted to help keep these people alive. He wasn’t in the mood to tell her that.

It wasn’t like he would have much time to do so even if he had been so inclined, as the two of them had to dodge bullets just then from one extremely pissed off mercenary.

“Oh, _come on_!” Felix shouted angrily, suddenly throwing himself in-between the two Freelancers and kicking at Washington’s head with such force that, if Washington hadn’t stepped back a fraction, the blow would have likely snapped his neck, “Now _you’re_ here ruining things too?”

“Sorry to be so rude.” Washington responded, returning the kick with one of his own at the same time that South aimed to punch his attacker.

Felix blocked the kick, but South’s armored fist caused him to stumble slightly.

The dark-haired man growled, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, “Hargrove was right about you Freelancers.” He spat out, “You’re all nothing but a bunch of interfering jackasses. No wonder you get along so well with these losers from the Resistance.”

“Yeah, well. Hargrove’s a dick and so are you, so I really wouldn’t be complaining about us too much.” South shot back, moving expertly out of the way of a knife swipe as she did so. She often sparred with C.T. back in the day, after all.

It was odd fighting alongside South again, especially with North and Kimball providing cover and the others engaged in their own battles.

In a way, it almost _hurt_ considering his mind was telling him to be wary of attacks from her as well given everything that had transpired in the past. But, it was also a bit welcome since Felix was definitely no slouch in terms of combat skills.

He remembered what had happened with C.T. when she had engaged the mercenary, which allowed him to press on past his doubts about South at the moment.

They had more pressing concerns, after all. Like somehow figuring out a way for _everyone_ to get back through all of these enemies before their dwindling time completely ran out.

 _“Figured you would show up.”_ Carolina’s voice was suddenly buzzing in his ear, and he could see some of the mercenaries, including Felix, stiffen.

They’d evidently been right about their enemies monitoring most communication frequencies save the Virtual and Artificial Intelligence workarounds.

 _“Guess all of us assholes have a fucking death wish.”_ Church grumbled over the radio frequency just then too.

Washington blinked, unsure of why they were communicating at all at this point, “Carolina, what—?”

From nearby, South looked at him sideways due to his sudden outburst before catching on that he was talking to their former leader over the radio. She stared at the mercenaries and soldiers to gauge their reactions too.

 _“There’s no time to try to keep this hidden.”_ Carolina spoke matter-of-factly, her response vague enough to not really reveal anything to the outside listeners, _“Tell the three closest to you. I’ll handle the others.”_

That meant that, regardless of the situation, they had to be ready to move. _Now_.

He gave a slight nod, though she was too busy whaling on a mech at the moment and moving towards Tex to actually see it, “Understood.”

“Something you guys aren’t sharing with the rest of the class, Washington?” Felix taunted, firing his gun at him.

The bullet grazed the armor over his right shoulder as the Above Grounder stepped back to stand by South, who was shooting him a ‘ _What the fuck was that about?_ ’ look that was obvious even through her visor. Any closer, and the shot would have been embedded in his body.

“I take it you guys have a plan you haven’t yet shared with everyone else?” She whispered to him just then, “ _That_ sounds fucking familiar.”

Washington ignored the biting remark since he could almost understand it, though it didn’t excuse her actions any more than some of his own past ones were, instead stating, “No time to explain, but get ready to follow our lead.”

She seemed to at least pick up that whatever it was involved them hopefully getting out of this situation alive, because he received a quick grunt of affirmation and a slight nod in response.

“I need to get to North and Kimball.” He informed her, gesturing towards Felix who was once more moving in closer, “Think you can keep our friend here distracted?”

A snort, “ _Please_. Has it been so long that you forgot who you’re fucking talking to, rookie?”

Just like that, as Felix lunged at Washington with a “ _You’re not going fucking anywhere!_ ” line, the fighter in orchid armor tackled him to the ground for what was no doubt going to be one very _brutal_ wrestling match.

Washington took that as his obvious cue to move.

He darted back towards where Kimball and North were, the two so focused on their own fight that they only gave him a slight nod of confirmation before returning to what they had been doing without so much as missing a beat.

“Blue Team?” Kimball asked without preamble, the concern evident in her tone for his missing group.

Washington suddenly had a feeling that the woman would have probably beaten him to death if she had seen them entering this battlefield with him.

“Sent them on ahead.” He explained just as quickly, before motioning to the cyan blur moving across the room, “Carolina and Church secured a way out. We’re getting ready to move. Now.”

The two soldiers glanced at one another, the obvious question exchanged between them.

“If it was that easy to break through these guys, Wash, we would have done so by now.” North told him gently.

The Freelancer sighed. _That_ much had been pretty apparent to him as well.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really sure of _how_ Carolina and Church were planning on having this great escape happen.

“I don’t know what they’re planning, but I was told to let everyone know.” He admitted, turning back around to face where he had left South and Felix fighting, “We need—!“

That was when _it_ happened.

South was a damn near excellent brawler, probably one of the best amongst the Freelancers. That was pretty apparent by the amount of blows she traded with Felix.

Washington wasn’t sure how it happened or why, but his former teammate had lost her focus for one second. It was probably something Felix had said or done that none of them could hear or pick up on from where they were, but whatever it was made South turn her head to regard the three of them.

To regard her brother in particular.

Felix took full advantage of that fact to kick her backwards. South stumbled, her footing momentarily lost as a mech’s bullet pierced through the side of her armor just as North’s own shot brought it crashing down.

One could almost think of the subtle irony in that as she crumpled, but truthfully that was the farthest thing from Washington’s or anyone else’s mind just then.

“ _SOUTH!_ ”

North’s cry split through any other noise that was blasting on around them.

Felix _laughed_ , looking down at the Freelancer’s twitching body, “Uh. I guess you Freelancers _are_ tough.” He admitted mockingly, “Even after that, I’m pretty sure she’s still alive.” The smirk was evident in his voice as he aimed his gun downwards, “Not for long, though.”

“ _You fucking bastard!_ ”

The trio of voices’ nearly wordless outburst just then had been overrun by a familiar one shouting at the top of his lungs. A voice that caused Washington’s back to stiffen and his blood to run cold just as Felix had to dodge the teal and brown blurs that nearly pummeled him into the floor.

Tucker and C.T. stood there, forming a wall keeping the mercenary from the others.

“Tucker and Connecticut.” Felix greeted jovially, though there was a manic edge to his voice that showcased just how much anger was flowing beneath the surface of his words at yet another interruption of his playtime, “Here I thought you two would be missing all the fun.”

“Wouldn’t miss handing your ass to you for all the world.” Tucker shot back snappily.

“Wha…?” Washington blinked, unsure about what was even going on, “The others?”

“Securing our exit.” C.T. remarked, not even glancing behind her, “Get to South.”

“No one is going anywhere!” Felix’s mood went to incredibly angry well above the surface in a matter of seconds, and he fired at where C.T. stood.

Only for her image to fade, the former Freelancer already moving herself over to their downed ally. Washington didn’t really have time to complain or say anything else, since he was already doing the same.

Before Felix could get his bearings again, Tucker took advantage of his angry lack of focus and raced forward, his energy sword going through the mercenary’s chest at the exact same time that two bullets did also from both Kimball and an eerily silent North.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Felix.” Tucker said as he drew the blade out on Felix’s gurgle, “ _We_ are leaving. _All_ of us.”

Felix fell to the ground at the exact same moment a blinding light filled the space. Washington was barely registering that someone must have used his flash grenade trick. His body, despite his eyes watering, was already going along with what seemed to be the cue they’d all been waiting for to make a break for it.

The dead weight of Agent South Dakota hanging between himself and C.T. limply as they started to make their escape.

*****

 _Simmons_ wasn’t getting back up.

Shit was happening around them, a ton of it that _somewhere_ in the very recesses of Dexter Grif’s mind he was fairly certain he was processing a little bit of. Possibly.

There was gunfire. The members of Red Team were scrambling here and there for cover. Mercenaries were pouring into the room.

Then there were flashes of pain throughout his entire body. His heartbeat was thudding in his chest, and it was somehow drowning out every other noise in his ears. His own breathing was shallow and labored. It _hurt_ every time he took in air.

But, none of that mattered just then.

His eyes were always, _always_ going back to the figure in maroon armor lying on the floor.

All of this shit. All of this chaos and cacophony and life-or-death-struggles were happening around them, yet Simmons _still_ wasn’t fucking moving.

Yet the redhead always had the nerve to call Grif lazy?

_Get up. Come on. Get the FUCK up!_

He wasn’t sure if his thought just then was directed at Simmons, himself, or mostly likely both of them.

The orange-armored soldier was still on the snow-covered ground where he had been thrown from the crash and subsequent explosion, while his mind was screaming at him that he _needed_ to be inside.

He needed to be there with his team. He needed to be there with Simmons.

If the skinny asshole was just going to lie there and be lazy, which was totally _his_ job and in no way was he going to let Simmons nerd _napping_ up, then Grif would just have to come in there, get him, and wake the cyborg up.

“Cap—Captain Grif, sir!”

The slurred voice that hit his ears just then gave him temporary pause from nearly blacking out from the effort of trying to stand up. Suddenly, two sets of arms were supporting him. Jensen and Volleyball were watching him worriedly, as if fearful he might collapse again at any second.

The Slums dweller didn’t want to think about how possible that was given the darkness looming in his vision.

“Lopez pushed us through.” Jensen was obviously nervous and rambling, “It’s better to have people holding the line from out here as well.”

From the newly fashioned hole in the base wall, the tan-skinned man could make out Matthews, Bitters, and Lopez. They were firing into the space to keep the enemy soldiers at bay.

He was aware that inside the room, Sarge was still holding things down with his trusty shotgun. Grif also knew that Doc and Donut were somewhere in there too.

Along with Simmons.

Was Doc trying to get to Simmons then, on account of his medic training? The Resistance fighter couldn’t see them anymore after having stood up, smoke blocking his view of inside the room.

Grif took a lurching step forward, catching the two younger female fighters by surprise.

“S—sir?” His sister’s girlfriend asked the question with a shaky tone, and he could feel Jensen’s grip momentarily tighten around his arm as if she was going to try comically holding him back from doing something reckless and stupid.

“T—take me there.” There was definitely a coppery taste in his mouth when he spoke just then, but Grif ignored it.

The two rookies glanced at each other.

“But—!” Jensen began, unsure.

“ _Please._ ” He looked at both of the lieutenants, “Besides, d—do you have time to waste here helping me?”

It was that argument, and the fact that he seemed a bit steadier on his feet, that finally sealed the deal for the two newer recruits. They had come to check on him, but they also desperately wanted to get back to help the others.

Quickly, but as carefully as they could, they made their way back over to where the hole in the base wall was with an aching Grif only being supported slightly by Jensen and Volleyball. Though it wasn’t that far away at all, in his opinion it seemed to take way too long to reach.

He was pretty sure he was getting his umpteenth rush of adrenaline at this point, seeing as how the pain flaring through him was less of a concern than the growing sense of urgency every passing moment in this situation was giving him.

Either that, or he was going into shock. Same fucking thing at this point, Grif supposed. Most definitely.

“¿No deberías estar descansando si aún no estás muerto?” _{“Shouldn't you be resting if you aren't dead yet?”}_

Lopez’s unknown question was drowned out by an angry _“What the fuck are you doing up? You were nearly killed before, asswipe!”_ from Bitters and a “ _Glad to see you’re up, Captain Grif! B—but is it a really good idea for you to be moving, sir?”_ from Matthews at the same exact time.

“I’m…fine.” Grif wasn’t really one for bravado, but he figured it was better in this case than prolonged arguing.

“Mierda. Estás sangrando toda la nieve.” _{“Bullshit. You're bleeding all over the snow.”}_

“Bullshit.” Volleyball and Bitters both muttered together while Jensen and Matthews seemed just as unconvinced of the statement through their body language.

Another round of gunfire tore through the opening just then, Bitters only managing to avoid getting hit about fifteen times by Matthews grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back a moment before. The two shared a quick look through their helmets’ visors at the other while Jensen and Volleyball took up positions near Lopez, returning fire.

Jensen and Lopez both hit two of the nearest enemies just then. Volleyball’s suppressive fire pushing the remainder too-close-for-comfort ones further back.

Grif took the opportunity of the shared moment between Bitters and Matthews to slip in front of them and head to the opening. Looking at them just then _hurt_ for some reason. He really didn’t want to dwell on why that was because then he’d see a maroon figure lying on the ground in his mind and _that_ hurt even more

“I’m going in.”

“What?” Bitters spoke up just then at the determined declaration from the older man, “That’s fucking crazy!”

“The odds of you getting back out alive are pretty low, sir.” Jensen’s tone was a more polite variation of “ _I think you’re an idiot._ ”

Grif let out a shaky breath, “Not debating. W—we still have people inside.”

“Y la adición de un cuerpo casi inconsciente en la mezcla va a ayudarnos, ¿cómo?” _{“And adding a nearly unconscious body into the mix is going to help us how?”}_

Lopez sounded even testier than normal, if that was possible.

“Just…st—stay and guard, okay?” He sighed, “It’s better than…all of us…”

The ground seemed to tilt slightly and Grif couldn’t finish his sentence.

Lopez sighed mechanically and reached over to grab onto Grif’s shoulder to steady him before turning to the gathered lieutenants.

“El idiota grasa es justo lo que necesitamos para llegar a los otros, pero también tenemos que cuidar este lugar todavía. Ustedes cuatro proporcionar cobertura.” _{“The fat idiot is right in that we need to get the others out, but we also need to guard this spot still. You four provide cover.”}_

“You’ve got it, sir!” Matthews saluted the robot just then.

Bitters and the others stared at him in shock, “You…understood that, Matthews?” the orange-trimmed lieutenant asked.

Matthews looked suddenly sheepish at the question, “Just…that it was an order of some kind, really.”

“Suck-up.” Both Grif and Bitters muttered at the same time.

“But he _is_ saying that he and Captain Grif are going to help the others, and that we are going to have to hold this position to ensure that they can.” Jensen spoke up.

The maroon-trimmed rookie had always seemed to have a slightly better grasp on interpreting what Lopez was saying. At least in the heat of battle or extreme emergencies if nothing else, which this definitely qualified as a case of both instances.

Jensen looked over at Lopez to make sure that she had in fact gotten it right, and promptly saluted both the robot and Grif when he gave her a slight nod, “Good luck, sirs!”

Apparently the Spanish-speaking robot had been too moved by the fact that another person had understood him to voice a confirmation out loud, but the message had definitely been received.

“We’ll make sure you can get out again!” Volleyball assured them, smiling a bit as she added more as an aside to Grif, “Kai wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

“Pr—probably not.” The Slums dweller admitted, and he couldn’t help but smile.

She was a good kid. He was happy Kai had found someone like her, though he did become a bit worried at the sudden realization that his sister wasn’t here yet herself. If Kai had been here, she would have never let him hear the end of this.

Volleyball had glanced at the interior as well, and he could tell she was thinking along the same line just then about Kai and the others, “We’ll make sure _ALL_ of you can get out safely.” She said after a second more, and he nodded slightly at her again in thanks, knowing what she meant and that she was wanting Kai to come rushing into the room just as much as he did.

“Just don’t get fucking killed.” Bitters said testily, ignoring the slight hit on the shoulder that earned him from Matthews, who seemed too moved to say anything himself by the heroics he was witnessing and instead opting to salute along with Jensen.

With that, Grif and Lopez were entering into the smoke-filled space. There was still flaming debris from the explosion all over, with even more fires breaking out every which way due to the haphazard and indiscriminate enemy fire occurring in the space.

The garage had housed transports for the base, along with a ton of fuel and energy cells for said transports. All of which could easily be set on fire or become impromptu bombs when hit by deadly weaponry.

In a lot of ways, it was akin to waltzing into a minefield.

But, on the other hand, it helped provide a bit of a smokescreen for them too, which both Red Team members used to their advantage.

From the look and sound of things, the suppressing fire cover from the younger recruits as well as Lopez’s own shots were doing well enough to keep the hostiles at bay. There were several Above Ground soldiers and mercenaries that had followed Red Team into the area, but they were held back close to the door leading out into the base proper still.

The enemy was unable to advance further in and do anything about the gaping hole to the outside. Especially now that it was aptly guarded and giving a giant middle finger to their plans of trapping everyone side and finishing them off that way.

Which was perhaps why their intermittent shooting now seemed so off and hectic. They didn’t have the manpower or firepower that their buddies upstairs were throwing at Kimball and the others here, but they didn’t want that to be an excuse as to why their part of the plan was getting so fucked up either.

It was making the enemy desperate, and that desperation was also sapping whatever strategies or discipline they usually had.

Add to that the constant alarm going off all around them, and the Above Grounders and mercenaries were getting all sorts of sloppy. No less dangerous still for that, but in that state it was a bit easier to take advantage of the cracks in their armor so to speak.

Which was pretty much what Grif had to do currently, given how hurt his body was following all of the recent examples he had of _why_ being active was actually just as fucking hazardous and harmful as he always claimed it to be while his friends rolled their eyes at him. Not to mention, along with the added _awesome_ bonus he had of having decided to rush in without maybe thinking of getting a gun first.

But, he needed his hands fucking free if he had to drag a certain lanky cybernetic nerd out of there.

Given the conversations that had taken pace earlier and the distractions that came with trying to not get even _more_ injured, Grif had lost track of just where he had seen Simmons lying earlier due to newfound smoke billowing into the area.

But, stepping directly into the space and taking a few seconds, which felt more like a fucking lifetime, to readjust to his surroundings, the orange-armored solider was getting a better recollection of the layout of the tumultuous battleground he’d seen only briefly before.

You know, that time following his less-than-stellar drive into heavy metal shielding in a transport filled to the brim with explosives courtesy of one of Sarge’s crazy backup plans. Before his vision and senses had become tunneled by Simmons, smoke, the smell of ash, blood, not being able to breathe again, and _Simmons_ …

Grif willed both the rising surge of renewed panic and pulsating pain down as best he could, his mind managing to focus in again on the area where he had thought he had seen Red Team gathered before things had gone so horribly wrong.

They should still be around there.

Doc and Donut were closer to the exit, Simmons was heading over ( _getting shot. Collapsing. Don’t think about that now!_ ), and Sarge had been aiming his shotgun while shouting threats from further into the middle of the area. The older man had been determined to hold the place until the others arrived and had been giving everyone else on Red Team time to take better cover.

There were a bit more debris spots now though, as Grif found out by stumbling and tripping over them while they progressed. Lopez was apparently equipped with a sensor or something because he seemed to effortlessly maneuver through the field.

Still, the whole thing seemed vaguely familiar somehow, even with the added haze and gunfire. The further inside they got, the more Grif swore he heard the distant din of familiar voices over the frantic chaos

The Resistance fighter wasn’t expecting it when something pink literally came running up to them both, enveloping him in a hug that caused his entire body to scream inwardly with pain.

“Grif!” Donut’s cheerful voice exclaimed, completely oblivious to the pain his hug was causing the other man, “You made it! You’re not dead after all!”

Oh, geez. Is that what they’d all thought before, back when they’d seen him just after the crash?

Grif tried to will his eyes to stop watering, which didn’t _fucking_ work on account of his lousy tear ducts, and get air back into his lungs. Donut obviously didn’t realize how strong his arms were or, more accurately, how injured Grif actually was.

“G—good to see…you too, Donut.” Boy, was Grif actually surprised by how sincere that wheezed out sentiment was, “I—I can’t—”

Donut seemed to realize just then that Grif was injured. The younger soldier let go quickly with a very sheepish, “Sorry! Never thought I’d be the one to lose head!”

“Estoy bastante seguro de que no es cómo va ese dicho.” _{“I am fairly certain that isn't how that saying goes.”}_

After his commentary, Lopez shot off into the distance. The robot’s action bringing back to focus that they _were_ , in actuality, in a battle zone.

Grif didn’t even have his usual presence of mind to say something about the blonde’s odd turn of phrase just then. Not while his body was still aching, but also knowing that the others were here. That Simmons had to be close by…

“Lopez! You’re here too!” Donut even had the guts to hug the brown-armored robot as well despite the situation, relieved no doubt to see him too but also not wanting their other teammate to feel left out.

Grif swore he heard Lopez groan, but he surprisingly returned the gesture regardless.

“Contra toda la sana crítica. Ustedes idiotas van a hacer que me maten, pero te extrañaría. Probablemente.” _{“Against all sound judgement. You morons are going to get me killed, but I'd miss you. Probably.”}_

“You’re right, Lopez! Standing together is what Red Team does best.” Donut agreed.

“…Supongo que es lo suficientemente cerca.” _{“…I guess that’s close enough.”}_

“Donut, what about the others?” Grif asked as Donut un-holstered his own weapon once more.

Their cover fire would only last so long, and…

“What about Sarge and Doc?” The orange-armored man asked again, not really liking the sudden desperate edge that was raising the pitch of his voice, “ _Simmons_?”

Even with Donut’s helmet still on, Grif had the sense that his happier expression from before had very much faltered with his friend’s questions given how stiff his body had become.

That didn’t help the rising tide of panic that had begun churning in Grif’s gut. He took a step forward, shakily.

“Equipo Azul debería haber estado aquí por ahora también.” _{“Blue Team should have been here by now as well.”}_

Donut nodded at whatever Lopez had just said, “There’s been a lot of commotion in the hallway recently.” He informed them, “We can’t be sure, but it’s a good bet that it’s Blue Team.”

Good. That was good news at least. Grif managed to get a pretty decent gulp of air into his lungs with that piece of information. That meant his sister, Tucker, and the rest of them would probably be here soon. That they would probably be okay.

At least, the Slums dweller was hoping so. He couldn’t really afford to think otherwise at the moment.

But, that _still_ hadn’t answered his questions. He almost had a sneaking suspicion that Donut was trying to avoid doing so on purpose.

As Lopez seemed to visibly relax a bit at that news, no doubt largely because it hopefully meant that Sheila was all right and on her way there too, Grif tried again.

“Donut?”

It was almost as if his voice had physically reached out and _slapped_ the younger man just then with how much the pink-armored soldier flinched. Again, _not_ helping Grif’s growing sense of dread at all.

“G—Grif.” Donut began, voice oddly quiet but audible still over the gunfire, his tone reluctant, “Simmons is—“

Before Grif could think of all of the ways that sentence could go, a familiar voice was shouting out over the din around them.

“You merc bastards! You want any of us? You are gonna have to face my shotgun first!”

“Sarge, I’m not sure provoking them anymore is a good idea given your injury!” Doc’s voice followed quickly afterwards, concerned and gently admonishing all at once.

“I keep telling _you_ it will take more than a shoulder wound to keep me down!” The gruff response was indignant, “Just keep doing what you’re doing with that magic do-hickey.”

“It’s a scanner and I’ve already—“

Donut was leading Grif and Lopez over to where the other two fighters were conversing. A shell of a ruined transport in the middle of the garage was supplying them with adequate cover for the moment.

Sarge was leaning halfway away from it, hurling insults at the enemy and shooting his shotgun intermittently if any of them came to close. Red Team’s leader was only using one arm though, his left hanging at his side. There was a slight trail of crimson liquid that was nearly undetectable thanks to his armor color of choice dripping down from a bullet wound in his shoulder.

“Sarge! You’ve been hit?” Donut gasped out worriedly as they approached.

The older soldier didn’t even bother glancing at them, “It went clean through. Nothing to worry about.” He remarked, laughing a bit, “Luckily, I can shoot with either hand!”

“Bueno, todavía está alrededor. Usted está dedicado, supongo.” _{“Good, you're still around. You are dedicated, I suppose.”}_

“It’s actually almost good to see you, sir.” Grif couldn’t help but chime in at the odd sense of relief he felt at seeing his crazy commanding officer once more.

Sarge berated the orange-armored soldier constantly and had tried killing him more times than he could count, but he was one tough old man. If he was still standing, Grif almost felt like maybe things could be okay no matter how shitty they got. Not that he’d ever say that to the guy’s face, mind you.

“Heh. Same to you this time, dirt bag.” Sarge was grinning, Grif was pretty sure, “You boys have done all right.”

But, that was the only accolade that Grif had the presence of mind to hear just then, because his eyes had wandered from Sarge down to the crouched over form of Doc.

If the medic wasn’t scanning Sarge’s injury, then…

The maroon feet caught his attention first, and then his brain registered the rest of the limp form.

“ _Simmons_!”

They had apparently dragged the redhead’s body over to the makeshift cover of the transport’s shell, propping him up so that Doc could perhaps get a better idea as to what was going on. Upon closer inspection, there was a trail of blood from just a few meters away where Simmons had fallen that led directly to where they were now. A large red pool forming underneath him.

Grif pushed forward just then, moving to crouch beside Doc, a shaking arm outstretched to grab onto Simmons’ shoulder. He hesitated though, _only_ because he didn’t want to make things worse. How the fuck could someone look _that_ fragile in full body armor?

“Grif…” Donut began sadly before deciding not to finish whatever he was going to say, sharing a worried glance with Doc.

Sarge’s tone was somber as he spoke, glancing behind him, “Like I said, _all_ of you boys have made Red Team proud.”

Grif glanced at Doc questioningly just then, the brown-haired man waving his scanner about uselessly.

“It’s—it’s not picking up much of anything.” He said helplessly and Grif remembered that the medic and Simmons were pretty good friends as well as teammates, so he tried not to scream at the announcement since Doc sounded so pained, “B—but this scanner isn’t really outfitted for cybernetics, so…”

Doc trailed off, clearly too upset himself but not wanting to give anyone _too_ much hope just yet.

There was a chance Doc was right, but if the purple-armored man wasn’t than that meant…

 _Don’t think about that now. Simmons is going to be_ fucking _fine and you’ll get to punch him for all of this later!_

“We need to move him.” Doc said quietly, “Regardless.”

The Above Grounder was right about that. There was no fucking way to really do any kind of medical aid _here_. Not with the alarm blaring, gunshots sailing by, the explosions, and—

“We’re coming through so you better move your asses, bitches!”

She’d caused him a _lot_ of scares over the years while growing up, but Grif had to admit that he’d never been more relieved or thankful in his entire life to hear his sister’s voice just then. Kaikaina Grif’s exuberant battle cry signaled Blue Team’s sudden, and very chaotic, entry into the fray.

They came into it fucking swinging too. Apparently, they had been saving all of their ammo and explosives for this very second. Currently, the members of Blue Team, minus Tucker and C.T. ( _what happened there?_ ), were throwing _all of what was left_ of their fiery ammunitionat the Above Ground troops that stood between them and the outside.

Bodies flew this way and that. Even more fires began breaking out, and the alarm seemed to be getting even louder overhead.

Sarge shot with precision, taking out a white-armored soldier who had somehow managed to stumble away from his comrades in time to avoid the onslaught before they had the chance to fire at Caboose as Freckles decimated his other comrades.

“Well, I am taking that as our cue to skedaddle too!” Red Team’s leader exclaimed.

Despite his own injuries, Grif moved along with Lopez to help lift Simmons up. It was going to be dangerous dragging the redhead out like this, but what other choice did they have?

He winced as Simmons’ dead weight fell more squarely against him, and he felt more of the all too familiar trickle of blood down his skin. Given Doc’s exclamation of surprise, the Slums dweller wouldn’t have been shocked if it hadn’t started seeping out even more through his own damaged armor as well now.

Still, Grif _was_ going to help get Simmons out of here. No matter how surprisingly heavy the Above Grounder seemed to be just then, or how much his own arms and legs felt like jelly.

Doc moved to help them, and all three started moving the cyborg along at a way too painstakingly slow pace. It seemed like they were only halfway to the blasted-out hole and freedom when more mercenaries came racing in and, spotting the easiest targets to take out, started taking aim.

Before Grif could even curse though, Blue Team had opened fire from closer to the exit right along with the Red Team lieutenants, Sarge, and Donut.

There was a shimmer in the air between the Red Team stragglers and the entrance back into the base proper. Locus stood there, having fired a single shot at one of the remaining soldiers.

“What the fuck!” Grif stared in disbelief at the asshole mercenary who had once wanted to kill him just because “ _orders were orders_ ” a while ago, but Locus never even turned back to face the Resistance fighters.

“Keep moving.” The steel-and-green armored man said succinctly.

“What in tarnation are you blabbing about?” Sarge seemed to be debating whether or not another demonstration of how ambidextrous he was with his gun-shooting skills was in order again.

Grif pulled Simmons’ form in closer to himself subconsciously.

“ _Go._ Maintain cover fire.”

Locus said no more, disappearing again with his gun still pointed at the doorway.

But, they didn’t have the luxury of pondering that occurrence any further as Blue Team was crowding around them. Their allies were pulling and ushering the group towards the outside while Grif still desperately clung onto Simmons despite his body’s protests.

He heard voices and more explosions, and suddenly the Slums dweller could _swear_ he was hearing Tucker shouting _“Everyone keep fucking going!”_ before he was being pushed and pulled along with Simmons forward from both in the front and from behind.

Then, in what felt like an eternity but was really only _seconds_ later, the world seemed to be enveloped by a searing heat and a blinding white. Grif couldn’t tell _what_ was going on anymore at all.

*****

“That is one really big, mother-fucking hole.”

Leonard Church always was one for eloquence he decided as both he and Carolina surveyed the outcome of the explosion.

Thank _fuck_ those assholes had managed to get his robot body out of there just in time. The Above Grounder knew that was probably largely on account of Caboose and Sheila more than anyone else. Next to him, Carolina scoffed at the A.I.’s brilliant description.

“You can say that again.” She remarked.

The very large, remote, and hidden base at Sidewinder was _nothing_ more than a huge hole now.

The entire fucking thing had been vaporized by the detonation of not only the base itself, though that truthfully would have left at least _some_ rubble behind given how securely built the structure had been and its size, but the destruction of the weaponized relic too.

As it stood currently, there was literally _nothing_ left. It looked as though something had gouged a giant asteroid-sized hole into the mountain.

Scarily enough, while there was no snow or ice anywhere at the hole’s precipice, the rest of the mountain seemed completely unaffected by what had happened. There were no changes to the environment or climate at all despite being that close to the destructive radius of a blast whatsoever.

Church couldn’t help but wonder if, below the surface, the chance for avalanche instability had perhaps increased. But, they’d just beat enormous odds in a really stressful situation and could use a breather. If there wasn’t any shaking yet, he was willing to take his chances for the moment.

He grinned at his cousin’s remark, deciding surviving all this shit _and_ getting his robot body back called for the opportunity to be a bit of a smartass, “I said, that’s a really—”

The redhead sighed, “I heard you the first time, Church.”

The Above Grounder stepped over to the massive drop before them, peering over the surface.

Yep, it looked exactly like if some kid had scooped out some mashed potatoes or something with a spoon. There were no rough edges or traces of rubble anywhere. Just a perfectly rounded out, enormous indentation carved into a mountain where a huge, top-secret military and research base used to be.

The ground in the chasm was smooth and polished, almost shiny like a thick layer of glass. Tentatively, he reached a foot out just to see if there would be any lingering heat. There wasn’t any.

It was as if, even though the explosion or implosion ( _whatever some science nerd wanted to classify it as_ ), had happened only ten or so minutes ago, it had already been a lifetime and nature already recovered. An entire sprawling military and research complex, along with everything it contained, gone as if it had never existed. Where it had once been, a hole that was as smooth as glass and as cold as ice.

Even though he knew he was a robot now, Church couldn’t help the shiver that worked its way through his body. What if Hargrove had managed to actually get that relic to target and fire on something? What if the blast hadn’t been contained?

“He fucking finally did something _right_ for once.”

 _Who_ he was talking about was definitely not lost on Carolina. She joined the A.I. staring down impassively at the hole.

“Yes.” Was all the response he got from the Freelancer, not that he had been expecting more.

It didn’t change _any_ of the horrific things _that man_ had done to them, or to anyone else over the course of the years. But, Church supposed the asshole had been one of the only people who could have pulled off something like this so flawlessly. Along with a whole shitload of help from people he’d never deign to acknowledge, mind you.

It wasn’t like it made the Above Grounder feel _any_ better about the past, but, eh, he didn’t really know how to describe it anymore. It was like something that had been weighing him down for too long was a whole lot lighter. Like a part of it had been gouged out along with this hole in the fucking mountainside too.

Closure. Or some bullshit sort of like it.

He imagined Carolina probably felt similarly. There was a slightly more relaxed ease with how she was carrying her shoulders just then, though she still kept her thoughts to herself.

“So, the bastard did it in the end, huh?” A familiar voice spoke up from behind them.

Church and Carolina both moved around quickly to face Tex, but she surprised them by moving to stand directly next to Carolina, joining them in peering down at the aftermath.

The black-armored woman seemed as alert as always but, with the more relaxed way she addressed them now, Church was reminded just how affected a whole shitload of other people had been by everything.

“Yeah.” He muttered, surprised at how casual his voice sounded, “Figured out how to contain the blast and everything. Went out with it like the giant tool that he was.”

“Huh.” Tex didn’t seem even slightly surprised, “Figures.”

There was an awkward silence following that for what felt like the longest time. The only noises being the whipping wind that was typical of the terrain this time of year, the hum of the ground transports as they hurriedly rushed back to take those who needed to get to base camp, and the general milling of others like them who, at the moment, weren’t desperately needed somewhere else.

Church had never really forgotten how much there was left to say amongst all three of them. He had, however, forgotten up until this point how fucking _weird_ a conversation of this magnitude was going to be.

Especially since it wasn’t like any of them were particularly good at dealing with, you know, _feelings_.

When it lingered on for a bit more than he figured was appropriate, Church decided “W _hat the Hell?”_ and went for it. He took in a deep, nonexistent breath, and opened his mouth—

Only for Tex to completely ruin his awesome moment of action and beat him to the punch instead. Which, honestly, fucking figured.

“You two know now.” It wasn’t a question, which meant that Tex knew what the response was well enough already.

“Yes.” Carolina beat him to it as well. Also something that fucking figured.

A nod from both redheads to each other, as if they needed the acknowledgement that the conversation was actually happening. It was disconcerting in a way to see the two usually so composed women both looking out of their element at the moment.

“Right.” Tex coughed slightly, her focus more on the cyan-armored redhead as she let the awkward conversation linger, “And you feel…?”

Carolina paused, taken aback by the question from the person she’d so often before looked at as her most hated rival. Finally she let out a sigh and her shoulders slumped even more as her gaze went back over the glassy expanse below them, “Hurt. Angry. Betrayed.”

“So, the usual?” There was only a slight joking tone to Tex’s voice just then.

A nod. Carolina almost let out what sounded like a small laugh, “The usual.” She thought about it for a few more moments, “But, also relieved now. In a way. Grateful even.”

There was a fond tilt to Tex’s voice as she joined the other in gazing out over the expanse, “You’re going to be fine, kid.”

“I’m fairly certain I’m older than both of you.” Carolina remarked casually.

Tex scoffed again, teasing this time, “Only technically.” She glanced at Church, “Though him? Wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Hey!” The A.I. gave them both the finger.

Carolina patted his shoulder in mock consolation before turning to Tex and holding out her hand. Her voice was awkward, sounding way younger than it had been in forever: “Truce?”

Tex stared at the hand for a second before gripping it with her own, “Truce.” She looked at them both, shifting uncomfortably again on her feet, “Thank you for coming. I’m sor—“

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Carolina cut her off, “Thank you too.” She paused before adding, “You don’t have to say it. I am too.”

There was a huge sigh from Tex, as if she had been worried about how this would play out as well. They dropped their hands to their sides.

“Let me know if you’re ever up for a _friendly_ competition after all of this mess is officially over with.” The black-armored woman joked.

Carolina was smiling, “Sure. I’ll let you know to be ready to get your ass kicked.”

“Pretty sure it will be the other way around, but it will be a hell of a fight.” Tex was grinning with an eager gleam in her dark eyes, “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too. Honestly.”

Just like that, the two women were acting like best buds. Church stared at them with his mouth hanging open.

“ _Seriously_?” He asked incredulously, “That was one of the weirdest heart-to-hearts I have ever fucking seen.”

“As if any of this is normal?” Tex shot back.

Well, she _did_ have him there.

The two stared at one another past Carolina, and Tex seemed to make the decision for both of them just then, asking: “Carolina, can you give us a minute?”

The Freelancer glanced from the redhead to her cousin. When Church nodded that he was okay with it, she did so as well, “Of course.”

Tex patted her shoulder with awkward affection, and Carolina stepped away to see what was going on elsewhere.

Which just left the two of them, and the probably very awkward private conversation they still needed to have. This time it was Church who broken the silence first. Fucking finally.

“So.” He really should have probably rehearsed this more in his head, but fuck it! He was just going to roll with it now, “You’ve known this whole time.”

“Longer than you.” She gave no elaboration though, not that he’d expected her to.

“It’s why you defected.”

For all that time, he’s never thought of the reason as to why she had left Above Ground. Not really. Now that he had, Church realized the entire defection should have been given more of his attention. The AI had avoided a lot of things he should have dwelt on more back then though.

His lack of memories involving anything really clear cut about his past with _her_. His family growing up. His anger. His general unease towards so much.

“We met once.”

Tex spoke up softly then, pulling the Above Grounder from his thoughts as she gazed out well past where they were standing now as she continued, “Back before I decided to leave the project for good.”

Church frowned, her words drawing a complete blank in his mind. There was really only one time period when that would have happened.

“It was after Epsilon was created.” He said, realization sinking in as he trailed off, “When I…”

When he had been broken. Before the fake whispers of memories of growing up with Carolina, or of an off-and-on again relationship with Tex that was as often as violent and frustrating as it was equally enjoyable and thrilling. Before his team.

Before reconnecting with his memories and learning who he was again.

A nod, “I’d found out about you— _us_ , I guess. I tried to help.” She turned to regard him, expression impassive, “I was too late. To help anyone by that point.”

That was when Freelancer had literally collapsed in upon itself.

Florida had been killed. Epsilon had damaged Washington nearly beyond repair. Maine had turned into something else entirely. Carolina had nearly been killed as a result, and North had almost died due to his defection.

“If you hadn’t gotten out then, things would have been a lot worse.” It was odd, being the one offering advice, “Who knows what would have happened to you or York if you’d been caught? Given his injury, North would’ve—”

“I know.” She let out a long sigh, cutting him off, “Still didn’t make it easy though.”

“Goodbyes suck in general.” He said sardonically, and seeing her stiffen at the terminology, quickly added, “Sorry. Bad joke.”

“Still don’t really know much about _her_ beyond vague emotions and the intel from files, but that phrase sticks out like a sore thumb.” The redhead admitted.

_I know that feeling._

Church took in a deep breath, “So, if you knew then about the fake memories, and that we’d never actually dated or anything, why’d you play along?”

Tex thought about it for a moment, “Remember what I had told you that night you and the other morons went to that dive bar in the Slums?” She asked him at length.

He frowned, recollecting: “You had said it was good to see me like that.”

He’d called her weird then, because he hadn’t caught her full meaning.

“Right. You were feeling things. Frustrated and with a stick up your ass, but secretly enjoying yourself too.” She sounded almost fond as she recalled it, daring him with a look to challenge her viewpoint, “Like you were whole. _Alive_.”

In an odd way, it was those kinds of experiences that had kept him from completely breaking down again after meeting Epsilon and learning the truth.

“That was the reason why you still played along, even though you knew my memories about you—about _us_ , were fake?”

The black-armor wearing fighter nodded, arms crossed over her chest, “I liked seeing that side of you, after seeing what you were like before. Even if I knew it was fake, if it could help what was so wrong about it?”

Tex shrugged as she continued, “I don’t know. I liked having that sense of connection all the same.” It seemed as if it was hard for her to admit a lot of this to him out loud, “Hearing the stories and embellishing them for fun, well I guess it gave me some semblance of normality too even though I was still pissed off about what had happened to us.”

“Can’t say I blame you for that either.” The A.I. muttered, understanding at least a little bit of what she meant.

After all, despite knowing what he was now, he still thought of Carolina as family. He still considered Tex his tumultuous, scary-as-all-fuck ex-girlfriend even now. It was probably beyond messed up, but at this point he didn’t really give a shit.

“At least we’re able to start over now.” He muttered.

“Still a few more things left to deal with, but they’re not as big a concern after all of this.” Tex agreed.

They were silent again, standing there awkwardly. Church wanted to say something, felt the need to keep the door open, but he didn’t want to push too hard either. Sometimes the best way to show you love something was to let it go. It was a message he’d ironically learned from an asshole who’d never been able to do so.

“Hey.” Tex spoke up just then, regarding him seriously.

“What?” Church wondered if he should ask more, if maybe it was weird that he’d been so accepting of the conversation’s outcome in general.

“Want to make some real memories then?” She asked him, “Together?”

The Above Grounder blinked, taken aback without even being able to form a complete question, “What, you mean like…?”

A nod, “We could see if Tucker was right about you needing those safe words.”

Church had a feeling the Slums dweller probably had been, but he figured he would joke anyways, “We’re both robots, you know.”

“Doesn’t stop Sheila and Lopez.” She was glancing over at the two in quiet conversation together further away.

Church supposed he’d have to stop inwardly complaining about robot love affairs since the idea at the moment wasn’t a terrible one to him.

“So, wait. You’re asking me out then?”

She scoffed, “Sure as hell wasn’t waiting around for your indecisive ass.”

He smiled, “Crazy bitch.”

Pretty much a yes then.

Church frowned, “Will this be without the whole stealing my credits thing?”

A shrug, “We’ll see where things go.”

“Church! Hey, Church! Tex too!”

Caboose was running up to them, hugging Church in a metal-crushing hold that would have nearly sent the two of them teetering over the edge of the hole if Tex hadn’t been there to grab and steady them.

“Goddamn it, Caboose!”

Caboose ignored the outcry, “I left Freckles with C.T. and Andersmith because I had to tell you the good news!” The younger soldier was babbling happily, “Since you guys helped us, Tucker said that makes you and the other angry lady honorary Blues!”

Oh, Carolina will be thrilled to hear that. It wasn’t like the Above Grounder really gave a shit either.

“T—that’s great, Caboose.” Church was fairly certain if he was a human he would be struggling to breathe right about now due to the strength of Caboose’s friendship hug.

Caboose was still talking cheerily, “Which means we will see each other more and I will get to play with my two best friends all the time!”

“Aww, you got compared to a gun.” Tex was _not_ doing a great job concealing her amusement at this turn of events.

“Oh, you shut up!” The A.I. muttered.

“That means you and Tex can hang out more too!” Caboose added, “She can even play with us sometimes! She is actually nice even though she is also scary.”

Church thought that Tex would have gotten annoyed with that last remark given her usual level of patience when it came to most things, but he was surprised to find her arms suddenly encircling the two of them from behind. Now the dark-haired man _really_ felt like he was going to be squeezed to death from two sides.

“That’s great, Caboose.” He heard the former Freelancer’s voice saying with sincerity somewhere close by his head, “In fact, I think we should have a party later to celebrate.”

“Oh, will there be food and music?” Caboose’s enthusiasm had him close to jumping up and down any second regardless of the fact that he would take the other two along with him, “Can everybody come?”

The A.I. couldn’t help but groan at the sudden turn of events. Oddly enough, however, he wasn’t as nearly as annoyed by it all as he thought he would get. Maybe making new memories together wouldn’t be so bad.

“You bet.” Tex was grinning mischievously, winking at the Above Grounder when their eyes locked a moment later, “We can even use Church’s credits to pay for the whole thing!”

“Yay!”

Church would probably need to at least _try_ to take some patience lessons all the same though.

*****

Waiting definitely sucked.

That was pretty much the _only_ thing going through Grif’s mind as he sat next to Simmons’ prone form on the floor of the tent that they had hastily erected, inwardly thanking fuck-who-knows that Donut couldn’t read minds at that exact moment for some offhanded phrasing comment. The Resistance fighter was unaware of how tightly he was gripping onto the other man’s limp hand as he continued staring down at the pale, freckled face below.

He knew that the others were milling about. He could vaguely hear and sense them, but his mind was too focused on Simmons right now to pay much attention to anything else. After all, he’d seen everyone in the immediate aftermath of what had happened.

Kai, Tucker, Red Team, the rest of Blue Team, Kimball, and the others. He knew that everyone else that he remotely cared or gave a shit about were more or less okay, save some of the poor guys that had been part of Kimball’s group.

Surprisingly, save the nerd, Sarge was the only one who’d actually gotten shot. Luckily, it had been a shoulder wound that Doc was currently looking over at the other side of the tent.

The glasses-wearing pacifist might have unorthodox medical views, but apparently Sarge’s statement of _“I can just walk it off and it will be fine!”_ was a bit much even for the Above Grounder medic.

That comment from the Red Team leader wasn’t too surprising though, given how tough and stubborn the old man was.

The only other critical wound had been to a Freelancer chick who had crashed the “party.” According to Donut’s love of gossip, she was North’s sister and he really _“hoped she’d be all right!”_ She was in one of the other emergency tents they had set up, with Doctor Grey currently working to stabilize her condition.

The Slums dweller knew that the Above Ground doctor had to make a choice between patients, and evidently a glance between both Simmons and the Freelancer had ended with Doctor Grey deciding that she needed to work on Agent South Dakota first. But, still, it had _sucked_ when she made that decision and Grif had almost even been physically pulled back from arguing over it vehemently.

The only reason he didn’t fight her more of it was her confirmation that Simmons, while not in ideal condition, was actually _alive_ thanks to her own more up-to-date medical scanner compared to Doc’s.

Given how Doc had been unsure of what Simmons’ condition even was, the orange-armored man had been more than just a little relieved when she was able to confirm that.

Still, it didn’t mean that having to wait around sucked less.

It was a thought that his sister shared quite loudly when she took the spot that Lopez had vacated a while ago after saying an unknown phrase to Grif followed by an awkward shoulder tap, right after the Spanish-speaking robot and Sheila had helped set Simmons down once the tent was ready.

“Waiting sucks major ass!” Kai exclaimed loudly, “And definitely not the good kind of sucking ass that’s actually fun.”

“Kai.” Volleyball had sat down next to her girlfriend, her voice fond but slightly admonishing as she reached over and squeezed the tan woman’s hand gently.

“I’m just saying.” She glanced at Grif worriedly, “Should we be doing something? Like, changing bandages?”

They had already removed the top half of Simmons’ armor to apply rudimentary First Aid. There were now bandages wrapped around the wound where he rested on a thermal blanket.

Grif blinked, gesturing with a downward tilt of his head, “It’s covered, Kai.”

She made a face at her brother’s obvious stupidity, “Not for him, dumbass!”

“She means for you in the meanwhile, numb nuts.” Sarge said, glancing up from the bandages on his own shoulder that Doc and Donut were just finishing up with. The older soldier was drinking a glass of orange juice that the purple medic had insisted on giving him despite Sarge’s protests of never wanting to drink anything that dreaded color.

“Yeah, you’re bleeding everywhere!” His sister was scrunching up her nose in disgust as she regarded Grif just then, “Not sure that’s the first thing the poor guy needs to see when he wakes up.”

 _When._   Kai was emphatically choosing not to say “ _if_.” With every moment that passed his younger sister was constantly glancing worriedly at Simmons and then back to Grif, but she seemed determined to believe that things would be fine.

Grif couldn’t help but admire that about her.

“I want to stay here.” The dark-haired man said quietly.

Truthfully, while he hurt all over, he was just terrified to leave this spot. Especially while Simmons seemed oblivious to his worry and continued dozing like he was planning to permanently take over Grif’s job of being the lazy one out of their group.

“Volleyball can watch over him for a sec while I help the gray medic guy patch you up.” His sister offered, voice pleading.

“I—I can help too!” Jensen had popped her head into the tent from where she and the three younger male recruits had set up _“doctor lookout”_ duty outside, “Cap—Captain Simmons was nice to me before, so—!“

“See?” Kai grinned, interrupting, “We’ve got it covered.”

She reached over and gave Volleyball a quick peck on the cheek and winked appreciatively at Jensen before pulling Grif away.

Grif’s mind, however, remained sitting at Simmons’ side throughout the whole thing. He only slightly heard Doc, Kai, and Donut’s _“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”_ type of comments constantly repeated towards the end of their changing of his own bandages.

Then he was back and sitting down next to Simmons again, gripping his hand and shooting thankful looks at the two girls on the other side of the cyborg.

They smiled, and both moved to get up again as Palomo shouted from outside, “Hey, the doctor lady’s coming this way!”

“Son! That is no way to address a professional!” Sarge berated as he walked out of the tent to greet her, evidently choosing _not_ to dress in armor again probably to impress the woman that Grif was fairly certain the Red Team leader was trying to gain the attention of now, hitting his orange-armored subordinate with a hearty shoulder bump as he did so.

The three younger women also moved to leave the tent, while Doc hurriedly tried to ensure that any necessary supplies Doctor Grey might need were readily in order.

When it was just Grif and Simmons in that section of the tent, a sudden impulse overcame the Resistance fighter before he could really dwell on it. He leaned down, pressing his lips against Simmons’ own gently, not sure why he felt so heartbroken at the lack of response or the coldness of the other’s. He pulled away, red-faced but still gripping Simmons’ hand tightly.

“Aww!” Donut’s interruption, thankfully or unthankfully, stopped his eyes from watering too much as his pink-armored teammate seemed touched by the ineffective display of affection, “That was just like something out of a fairy tale like _Sleeping Beauty_!”

“D—Donut—!“

“Huh, here I was, about to say the same thing!” Doctor Grey’s voice spoke up cheerfully from behind both of them, “I’m shocked someone else beat me to it!”

Grif wasn’t sure if what he wanted do more just then was either bang his head against something in embarrassment or ask her what the fuck exactly she was talking about.

*****

It was an odd, weird-as-fuck dream he was having. That was for sure.

Richard “Dick” Simmons wasn’t even really positive of when he had fallen asleep in the first place.

_He knew they’d been running to the exit point. An alarm was blaring as time kept moving way too fucking fast, gunfire at their backs the whole time._

_Then they’d heard the explosion. Grif had managed to actually break a hole through the shielding just in time. The orange-armored man had been there too. Holy shit, he looked bad and Simmons knew that he needed to get to him…_

_Then, all of a sudden he was a little boy, talking with his mother. Being berated by his father yet again._

_He was a teenager, trying to ponder how Kai could be colorblind as she framed his chore wheel while Grif laughed the whole time. The dark-haired teen had a nice laugh, Simmons decided._

_He was an adult. Captain Butch Flowers was listening to Doc talk about orange juice and aloe vera again. Church rolled his eyes in the background and Sheila knitted a sweater. Simmons was confused. During that time, Sheila didn’t knit. She hadn’t even been a robot back then, but a tank instead..._

_That was it. His mother was sick. She was dying. His father didn’t care._

_Then, she was dead. Then, Captain Flowers was dead._

_No messages from Dad._

_Grif was laughing again. They fell asleep shoulder-to-shoulder high above the Slums while talking about everything they could possibly even think of. But, that wasn’t right. They hadn’t done that as adults._

_Then, Grif was injured. He was bleeding out. Simmons couldn’t get to him, was going to lose him too…_

_There was fire in his lungs. Suddenly he was gasping for air. There was pain in his chest and all fucking over and—!_

Simmons’ eyes shot open. He bolted upright, not seeing where he was at the moment or really recognizing much of anything.

All he knew was that his chest _hurt_. He needed air.

What constituted as his heart now was pumping his blood through his body from what had been a slow crawl before to a roaring waterfall that nearly floored him again. He was so dizzy and disoriented that the sound nearly drowned out all of the voices around him.

“There you go!” Doctor Grey was speaking somewhere close by, “While the bullet did hit a bit of organic material, accounting for the bleeding, most of the actual damage was to the cybernetics in his chest cavity.”

“Ah, so, it basically caused a near shutdown of his artificial respiratory and circulatory systems?” Sarge’s interest in robotics was obvious as he spent longer than usual putting his clothes back on in the good doctor’s presence, and Simmons found himself disoriented and wondering again what the hell was going on.

“Yup!” Doctor Grey nodded, impressed at Sarge’s knowledge of what she had been talking about, “That had put him in a near-death state until I did a jumpstart!”

“Wha—?”

At the sound of his confused voice, Doc hovered into view along with Donut, practically shoving the dark-skinned woman out of the way as the doctor huffed in mild annoyance, “Simmons! How do you feel, buddy?”

Everything hurt and he still wasn’t really sure what was going on. While the redhead’s insides definitely hurt, it was the squeezing pain around his chest that was most perplexing. At least until Simmons looked down, seeing reddening bandages, tan skin, and dark black hair as _Grif_ had his arms wrapped tightly around him.

The tan-skinned man’s head was buried in his chest as he clutched onto the Above Grounder in what was pretty much tantamount to a death grip.

Suddenly, despite the chill of Sidewinder even with the thermal tent he now could tell they were in and the aching still everywhere in his body as his systems started getting back to working order, Simmons felt like he was on _fire_.

He was fairly certain there wasn’t any part of him now that wasn’t probably scarlet, even his synthetic skin plating.

The cyborg took a deep breath, and managed to squeak out the only thing he could think of given the situation he had just woken up into: “Am—am I dead?”

*****

“You didn’t have to help us escape, you know.” David Washington remarked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded despite everything.

“I know.” Locus’ voice was as emotionless as ever, just like his expressionless helmet. Both revealed nothing.

Washington glanced over at C.T. then. She was standing a bit away near the medical tents, closer to where Andersmith, Freckles, and the two robots were observing the conversation, but the brunette was listening rather aptly to their discussion as well.

He then looked to Kimball, who regarded the mercenary with a guarded expression clouded over her features.

“Then why—?”

He shrugged before the Freelancer could even get the full question out, “Well, this would have all been pointless if you had died without the intel getting out, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re still not going to explain your sudden change of heart?” Washington pressed.

“No.” From the tone of Locus’ voice, it was pretty obvious that he thought his response should have been apparent without him even having to vocalize it.

“So, what will you do then?” Kimball asked, speaking up for the first time in several moments since the mercenary had once more made his presence known in the camp, “Hargrove will be exposed, and your own role in a lot of terrible crimes will come to light too.”

Wyoming, who had been standing there quietly, suddenly said in a joking manner, “Planning to spend your retirement funds in a jail cell in exchange for a lighter sentence?”

There was an edge to the former Freelancer’s banter though, just below the surface. A more than subtle threatening note. Washington didn’t have to guess why that was.

The mercenaries had had a hand in what had happened to him, and Wyoming knew that for sure now thanks to Church.

“Are you?” Locus questioned him instead.

He shook his head, “I don’t plan to, no.” Wyoming fixed him with an even stare, “Once I help these blokes get the information back, I plan to do a little sightseeing. Visit old friends. Have some _nice_ chats with them that are well overdue.” The edge in the Above Grounder’s tone was back, but it suddenly disappeared again as he turned jovially to his partner, “Isn’t that right, Gary?”

Gamma nodded, his own eyes focused on Locus as well in an assessing manner, as if to gauge his reaction to the hidden meanings in his human friend’s statement, “Affirmative, Reggie.”

“Sitting in a jail will accomplish nothing.” Locus remarked instead, still choosing to simply respond to Wyoming’s initial query and not fall into his bait, “Especially if others from our unit escaped. Or Hargrove does.”

“You think he will?” Kimball asked, voice quiet and serious.

They’d hoped the Chairman wouldn’t realize that his plan had failed here until it was too late for him to really make alternative ones, but he was crafty and intelligent when it came to planning things.

“Hard to say.” Locus shrugged his shoulders indifferently, “The same could be said of Felix.”

Washington raised an eyebrow, “You think there’s a chance he survived?”

Given his injuries just seconds before they had left, and what all of them had just escaped from, it didn’t seem possible that the steel and orange-armored mercenary could have survived, but…

“I wouldn’t completely put it past him.” The steel and green-armored mercenary admitted, voice quiet. He straightened, turning to glance out over the chilly expanse around them, “I’ll keep a lookout.”

“And you think this will somehow make us even?” Kimball started just then, stepping forward.

He raised a hand up to cut her off, shaking his own head as he did so, “It won’t. But that doesn’t matter.”

Locus _really_ was not a good talker.

Washington frowned at the abrupt and not very clear at all comment, sharing a questioning glance with Kimball just then. During their silent exchange, the mercenary suddenly disappeared from sight using his cloaking tech, causing the Resistance leader to swear under her breath.

Wyoming smirked at the turn of events, “Don’t worry. I’ll be on the lookout for all those chaps.” He assured them, his voice friendly and cheerful once more, “After all, he’s one of the blokes I need to have a nice, long chat with too.”

The hidden edge in the former Freelancer’s voice was back. He wasn’t even trying to conceal it anymore.

“Yeah, that isn’t too reassuring either given your track record.” Washington couldn’t help but remark sarcastically.

“One shouldn’t throw stones in glass houses, Washington.” Wyoming chided the younger Freelancer, turning to Kimball and nodding, “You can even consider that pro bono work.”

Thank every deity in the known universe and beyond that Tucker and Donut weren’t around to hear that.

Kimball sighed, shoulders slumping, “I…I’m going to check up on North and South.” She said quickly, taking her leave.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group then, and Washington stared at the ground helplessly.

He had a lot of problems still with South on account of everything, but what had happened to her wasn’t something he had wanted. The Above Grounder knew it was probably eating up her twin brother, regardless of what their problems had been.

Judging from how quiet C.T. and even Wyoming were just then at the reminder, he could tell they felt the same.

The white-armored former Freelancer let out a breath of air, he and Gamma turning away from the group, “Right. I’ll go check in with Niner to see what needs to be done with the air transport or something. Lots of things to do still and all that.” He said awkwardly, making himself scarce too.

Washington sighed as he turned to face C.T., who was now walking towards him. She was about to say something when something behind Washington apparently caught her eye.

“Hey! Wash, we’ve got to talk _now_ , mother fucker!”

Tucker. When the Freelancer turned around, he noticed that the Resistance fighter was with Junior in tow as well.

Before Washington could retreat from an awkward situation he had been hoping he could just put off indefinitely by burying himself in everything that still needed to be done, the Above Grounder caught a flash of a grin on his childhood friend’s face as she stood next to him. Suddenly, he was shoved from behind and directly into the path of a very pissed off teal-armored fighter and curious alien child.

Oh, _fucking great_.

*****

York didn’t really need to turn around to know who was standing behind him just then. Of course, Delta had informed him of their identity too, but it seemed more dramatic to not let that be known.

The Freelancer was standing slightly closer to the air transport and a bit farther away from the temporary encampment, having decided that he needed to have a few moments to himself once he had helped to make sure the injured would be okay. Thankfully, Doctor Grey was a miracle worker even if she was a bit more than _just a tad_ eccentric.

Besides, since he was planning on hopping a ride on the transport later as part of the group that would be crashing a Council meeting, York figured it didn’t hurt to stay closer to the ride in case Kimball or someone else decided it was imperative to get airborne _right_ away.

That reminded him of how his parents had left him once at Chorus. It had been pretty traumatic, even if he tried to play it off as a joke by saying he’d befriended a bunch of radioactive squirrels.

Only Wash had ever believed that story though.

“So.” York took a deep breath when the person simply stood beside him and said nothing, as if waiting for him to speak first or just really having a hard time coming up with what they wanted to say, “Have you finished everything you needed to do then?”

“Of course.” Carolina finally spoke up after another second of pondering silence, finally moving to stand next to him a moment later.

The brunette nodded, having already figured out most of what she had been up to before, “The Director?”

“Dead.” She stated it bluntly, the word all at once both harsh and hollow coming from her voice. She regarded him quietly, as if expecting some kind of commentary, and quickly added, “But, not by me.”

He grinned at her answer to his unspoken question, “I figured as much.”

If she _had_ gone through with her initial plan to kill the Director for revenge, York knew this conversation would have played out a hell of a lot differently from the get-go.

If nothing else, the redhead seemed almost more at peace now. He was glad for that, whatever else might come from things later.

A slight smile curved her own lips upward, “I guess you did always know how to read me.” She stated, looking out at the snowy expanse before them and the waiting transport with a contemplative look forming in her green eyes, “He was the one that contained the blast in the end.”

“Really went out with a bang then, huh?” The Freelancer was nearly afraid that he’d gone too far with the joke, but she didn’t hit him or even glare in response to it.

Instead, she looked back at him with a sad sort of slight smile before her features took on a decidedly awkward and not-very-Carolina at all look to them, “York, I—“

He cut her off by lifting a hand up, “It’s okay, no need to apologize.” He informed her, “I get it.”

She relaxed somewhat, returning more to her old self in terms of her body language. York preferred that to her being angry, hurt, or unsure.

“Are you sure?” The green-eyed Freelancer glanced over at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow speculatively, “I seem to recall that I _did_ hit you a few times.”

“Twenty-two times, to be exact.” Delta suddenly appeared over York’s shoulder, helpful as always.

Carolina both looked apologetic at that exact number, as well as slightly amused at the same time. York winced a bit at the oh-so-helpful reminder, but he couldn’t help but smile himself in amusement at seeing her reaction too.

“Thanks for the recap, D.” He told the A.I. Fragment, who apparently took that as his cue to disappear once more from the private conversation as York shook his head while casting a glance over at Carolina. She caught his eye and tried not to raise her eyebrow anymore in bemusement, but failed miserably.

“I healed. Eventually.” York assured her, sighing after a few moments before deciding he might as well just admit everything while he was at it, “I’m just glad you found what you needed to back there.”

There was silence following that. He cast a nervous glance her way, afraid that perhaps he had been wrong in his interpretation of her earlier actions and body language before. Carolina was staring off into the distance, not looking upset or anything. She just seemed contemplative, as though her thoughts were miles and miles away from where they were right now.

“…You did find it, right?” York finally managed to squeak out, hoping for a positive answer in response.

Finally, she nodded, “Right.”

He let out another sigh of relief and, even though it was nothing but cold ground and snow, he promptly sat down, “So, what now?”

“I’m not really sure yet.” She shrugged, “I figured I would go with Kimball to the Council, provide them with some more information on what happened here.”

“Huh.” The Above Grounder nodded, smirking playfully, “Here I was, planning on tagging along on that trip for guard duty. Imagine that.”

The redhead looked down at him in quiet amusement, “Guess the flight back to Above Ground would be a good time for us to catch up.”

The Freelancer couldn’t help but raise a brown eyebrow, “Without punching?”

She seemed to consider the question for a moment, anyone who accused Carolina of not having a sense of humor hadn’t stuck around her long enough, before finally nodding, “Without punching.”

Before the brunette could do more than smile somewhat at that confirmation, Carolina was motioning to the spot on the ground next to him, “In the meanwhile,” she started, looking at him questioningly, “Mind if I sit here?”

“Can’t say I would.” He grinned, “I think we could all use a rest right now.”

“Agreed.”

Just like that, Carolina was sitting down in the snow right next to him, her head tilting moments later to rest lightly on his shoulder. York tilted his head slightly so that his chin was sitting lightly on her hair.

For the next few moments, regardless of everything that had happened between them in the past or everything else that was going on around them and would be later on, things were absolutely _perfect_.

*****

For a while after all of the shit that had gone down, Lavernius Tucker really hadn’t had much time to ponder, well, _anything_ really. That was pretty understandable given the whole _hauling-ass-to-make-sure-no-one-got-vaporized_ they’d had to do.

Following that, there hadn’t even really been _that_ much time to really just sit there and fucking gape at the giant hole that was where the base had been before. Or relax and dwell on the whole _holy-shit-we-actually-saved-the-Slums_ part of the equation either.

No, most of the time had been spend on doing shit. There were tents to set up. Injuries to attend to. Future plans that had to be talked about as well.

Unfortunately, there had been a lot of deaths on Kimball’s assault team if one was trying to keep track of numbers. Thankfully, however, there had been only two majorly serious injuries to contend with.

Though, truthfully, he couldn’t help but feel awful for Grif given how one of them had been his husband. Plus, not going to lie, the chubby asshole didn’t look too good, even before having to deal with that kind of extra worry.

He also felt bad for North. He knew that the Above Grounder’s relationship with his twin sister was complicated as all fuck, but it still sucked about what had happened to her.

After seeing to the wounded, another directly immediate concern had been checking up with the air transport crew to see how they were doing, and to get them and everyone else more or less up to speed on what would be the next several phases of the Resistance’s mission from here on out.

Basically, that meant that Kimball, Doyle, and a few others would all be going to the next Council visit to see what would happen next. Along with the intelligence that Blue Team had managed to collect from the base’s databanks, of course.

Tucker was yet again reunited with his son too. Fuck it, he’ll admit that there were tears in his eyes.

The Slums dweller was pretty sure there were some in Junior’s eyes too, though the kid would try to always play it off like he wasn’t crying to impress his father.

The dark-skinned man found himself hugging the boy tightly and swearing he would never let him out of his sight for a whole month or more following this. He counted that reunion as a good time, despite all of the majorly shitty ones they’d had to go through before now.

No amount of time with Junior would ever be enough though, not after all of this.

He never _ever_ wanted their reunion to end, although there was still one other person in particular he needed to talk with.

A few minutes later, even though it felt more like an eternity, he looked up to see Washington, Kimball, and Wyoming in the process of questioning Locus again.

Tucker knew it was time to have _“the talk”_ with that certain someone, because he _sure as fuck_ wasn’t going to let Wash avoid what had happened before for the rest of their lives.

Plus, the Resistance fighter was more than just a little pissed off by it still too.

“Come on, son,” he told Junior quietly, as he gripped his hand reassuringly, “Daddy has to go ream someone out.”

“Honk?” Junior tilted his head to the side questioningly, but moved along with Tucker as the group around Wash dispersed as his own tiny hand returned his father’s grip tightly.

The Slums dweller’s announcement had definitely left no question as to his mood when he reached the perpetually suicidal Freelancer. Junior took that as a cue and, after glancing between his angry father and the uncomfortable Above Grounder, smartly decided to take his leave.

He let out a happy _“Blarg!”_ at C.T. who was beckoning him over and out of dodge just then, the woman shooting a knowing look at the two adults before leading the happily chattering child over to Andersmith, Freckles, Lopez, and Sheila.

“What.” Tucker began once he was certain they weren’t in earshot of _everyone_ , “The. Actual. Fuck?”

Oh, yeah. He was pissed. Emphasizing each and every word was a telltale sign of that, one he had learned from his mother.

Wash blinked stupidly, either actually confused by the question or just playing dumb to kill time.

Either way, it just made Tucker want to throttle him.

“You just had to leave by yourself to go play some suicidal self-sacrificing hero again, didn’t you?” The Resistance fighter was seething.

Understanding dawned on Washington’s features just then, which was about _fucking time_ if you asked the Slums dweller, “Tucker, that was—!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit about how it was strategically sound or whatever!” The younger man cut him off, “We should have all gone and helped if that was true.”

Wash’s face hardened at his tone and words, “No, we _shouldn’t_ have. We needed that intel to get out of the base.”

“So? Only one or two needed to get out then, tops.” Tucker was still glaring at him defiantly, “But, you had to go and try to get yourself killed again—“

“I was trying to make sure no one else did!” The older man cried out in frustration, returning Tucker’s glare a second later, “Don’t even get me started on how foolish it was for you and C.T. to follow me!”

“Yeah, well, it was a compromise we could have worked out before if you hadn’t been so damn eager to leave!” Tucker informed him heatedly, “None of us wanted you to die, dumbass!”

“I didn’t want any of you too either!” Wash growled out, getting angrier with Tucker’s stubbornness by the minute, “Especially since…”

The Above Grounder trailed off and said nothing, looking decidedly awkward all of a sudden. His sudden change in demeanor had Tucker remembering how Wash had acted beforehand, and he felt both exhausted and frustrated again all at once.

He sighed, “Look, I know you Freelancers tend to think you’re the shit. You _thought_ you were doing something good because all of us have friends or whatever. Believe me, I didn’t want to die and leave Junior alone. I wasn’t planning to either, so I get it.” The Blue Team leader glanced over fondly at where the child was still entertaining his friends before continuing, “But, you have friends too, man.”

“Tucker.” Wash frowned.

“More people than you probably think would have missed you if you’d croaked.” Tucker cut the blond off before he could make another weak-ass argument and throw his train of thought off, “Fuck it! I know I would have after all the shit you’ve done for me.”

Before Wash could even respond, Tucker reached out, grasping onto the older man’s hand. The Freelancer was staring at the gesture in shock before looking up questioningly at Tucker’s slightly red but stubborn-looking face.

“Just so you know, that whole embracing shit and forehead touching thing you did back there?” He asked breathlessly before he lost his nerve to bring it up, “ _Wasn’t_ really subtle. At all.”

Wash must have blanked out then, because his expression had gone slack in the next second and he didn’t respond at all. So, Tucker decided to do what he did best and just plow on through before his brain caught up with his emotions.

“It was kind of a jackass thing to do since you went off to get yourself killed a moment later, dude. Definitely a mixed message.” He frowned mockingly, “Especially after all those times when you insisted on hand-holding, but didn’t even buy me dinner.”

“You’re holding my hand now.” Wash remarked weakly after a few awkward and tense minutes had passed, the fight from before apparently completely draining from him with Tucker’s words.

Tucker couldn’t help but grin, “I know, and there’s _going_ to be a meal this time too.” He informed the blond, gesturing with a tip of his head over to where his son was standing, “Junior and I are looking forward to it.”

There was another pause then and, for a moment, Tucker was afraid that maybe he had been way off with his views on everything that had been building up between them. That there’d be some kind of protest to what he’d said, or vehement denial. The Resistance fighter nearly pulled his hand back.

But, suddenly, Tucker felt a pressure there as Wash gently squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

When the Freelancer spoke next there was a tentative smile in his voice, “It’s a date then.”

*****

Bitters was surprised when Grif ran out of the tent suddenly without his armor on, muttering something about needing supplies under his breath.

The lieutenant wasn’t really sure at all what was going on to warrant that much energy from the typically lazy slacker of a captain. For a few moments, at any rate.

The whole situation became pretty much as obvious as a flashy holographic street sign when the formerly very much incapacitated Simmons, equally armor-less, also ran out of the tent.

“Oh, so he’s not dead after all! That’s great!” Palomo stated cheerfully following the odd scene, which promptly caused Jensen to smack him in the arm.

“Nah. It looks like Big Bro is still just a little too shy about PDAs for his own good.” Kai was grinning, brown eyes following after the fleeing pair with a cheerful glint in them. Her arm was wrapped tightly around Volleyball’s shoulders as she spoke, the other girl doing the same.

“I think it’s rather sweet, personally.”

Captain Donut had opened up the tent flap just then to add to the conversation, watching the two himself with a look that could only be described as gleeful anticipation crossing over his features before a sudden thought had him pouting slightly, “Though it does suck that I didn’t get to wear my nurse’s outfit at all today with all of the helping here I did!”

From where he was standing next to the pink-armored man, watching his lanky cybernetic teammate chasing after the heavy-set Slums dweller, Doc tilted his head thoughtfully, “You mean the one you said we’d use the next time we…?” He began, but trailed off before properly finishing the question, looking quite a bit red-faced underneath his equally pink glasses.

Donut nodded happily, winking, “Yep! That’s the one I was talking about, all right!”

Doc coughed, “I—it might be better to still try wearing that outfit in private first.”

Bitters _so_ didn’t need to catch the hint of excitement that he had heard in the purple medic’s voice just then.

Though he did suppose he could agree with everyone that it was great to see that Captain Simmons was up and about once more. Even if he and Captain Grif running out into the fucking freezing temperatures of Sidewinder without armor on was probably going to guarantee them one hell of a case of frostbite later.

“I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Doctor Grey spoke up just then to join the group in their observations, apparently mind reading being one of her many hidden, and unnerving talents, along with sneaking up on people when they least suspected it, “I told Simmons that I would need to check them both over again after I check up on South once more. So, they’ll be back before anything too drastic happens to them medically.” She paused for dramatic effect, a grin spreading across her features, “Or they’ll suffer the consequences!”

No one really wanted to suffer any consequences for ignoring the good doctor’s advice when it came to medicine. Bitters knew that well enough himself, and couldn’t help but shudder at the memory, grateful for the reassuring shoulder-bump he got from Matthews just then when the other young man noticed his discomfort. They were leaning against one another slightly while standing, a new routine Bitters was really enjoying.

Palomo nodded his head at the dark-skinned woman’s comment, smiling still with a contemplative look of his own over his features, “Yeah, but will that be before or after they end up doing—ow!”

Jensen had hit him again, but the Blue Team rookie returned the gesture by grinning at her with literal _sparkles_ in his eyes.

It was great that they had saved the Slums and that Hargrove was going to be exposed for the asshole that he was and everything soon, but Bitters was really not sure how much more of any of this he could fucking take.

“At least…” Matthews haltingly spoke up close to the Slums dweller’s ear just then, as if catching on to the annoyed grimace flashing across Bitters’ face at their friends’ antics, “At least, we can relax a bit together like this and really enjoy it, huh?”

The orange-trimmed lieutenant couldn’t help but return the tentative smile that he saw on the corners of the other’s face just then, glad that at least that was true, “Yeah.”

He gave Matthews’ hand a small, reassuring squeeze just then before pressing a kiss to the auburn-haired young man’s incredibly red cheek.

“PDA! PDA!” Both Kai and Palomo were cheering loudly together, with his childhood friend even feeling the need to add in a little wolf whistle for good measure.

It was easy enough for Bitters to comment to that with the usual routine: “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”

But, he was still smiling along with the others.

Matthews was right. This was still a nice feeling, at least.

*****

By the time C.T. had rejoined Andersmith, Freckles, Sheila, and Lopez with Junior in tow, it seemed as if whatever conflict had been brewing between Wash and Tucker was pretty much over with.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about them arguing too much anymore, kiddo.” She assured the alien child at her side.

“Blarg!” He was staring over excitedly at the two men holding hands just then as well, his happiness at the turn of events clearly visible in his body language.

The brunette knew that the last several months had been an ordeal for Junior, but maybe seeing everyone, particularly his father, less tense was the start of a new beginning for him. Of happier and more hopeful times all around.

At any rate, she hoped so even though she knew realistically speaking there was still a lot left to do before this situation could truly ever be considered resolved.

“It is good to see everyone returning to such high spirits bit by bit!” Andersmith was clutching Freckles tightly to his chest, sounding as though he were on the verge of happy tears himself at the prospect.

“YES.” The V.I. inside the gun apparently agreed with his sentiment, a blast of confetti spurting from him unbidden, much to Junior’s delight as he crowded over to the blue-trimmed lieutenant and Caboose’s gun to clutch at the multi-colored bits of paper before they fell onto the snow.

“No seré limpiando eso.” _{“I won’t be cleaning that up.”}_

Lopez added something to the commentary going on around him, before sighing as he glanced around at everyone again and deciding he needed to elaborate more.

“Pero es bueno para no ser aterrorizada de que todo va a quemar, para variar.” _{“But it is good to not be terrified that everything is going to burn for a change.”}_

Sheila held his hand then, in a gesture that was rather similar to the one that Tucker and Wash were currently engaged in.

“I am glad that things are calmer now for everyone as well.” She informed the other robot quietly.

The two stared into one another’s visors for a lingering moment afterwards. The gesture had C.T. smiling once more in nostalgic fondness herself before they walked off to the side after nodding to the others.

Lopez and Sheila leaned their heads together, their robotic bodies humming in a language that was private and meant just for the two of them.

C.T. supposed she should once more check on how South and Simmons were both doing, though she had done so twice already. The Above Grounder knew that Doctor Grey was the best when it came to medicine, since the doctor had even saved her life in fact. She knew that they were in the best possible care.

For the moment, the brunette found herself just wanting to reflect since she was being given the rare opportunity to do so.

That was why C.T. remained standing with Andersmith, Junior, and Freckles.

She was hopeful and wishing for the best for everyone, but her mind was already thinking about what new situations they’d most likely have to face in the aftermath of all of this. It wasn’t going to be easy, of that the Freelancer had no doubt. She’d always been a realist when it came to most things.

Yet, she was surprised in a way at how calm she felt about everything currently too.

Relieved, even, given some of the things she was seeing now. These peaceful moments and exchanges that had been so rare or near impossible to see too much of given the numerous threats that had been thrown at them so intently in the past.

“I didn’t think I’d ever remotely get to feel like this again.” She admitted quietly, more to herself than to anyone present.

Not since _he_ had died at any rate. Not since everything had fallen apart piece by piece around her.

But, C.T. was happy for Wash and for her other friends. They could enjoy aspects of their lives again when, before, it had seemed like too much had been lost for that to be remotely possible. She found herself hopeful that those not in a situation to do so at the moment would be able to as well once they had recovered. She was grateful that she could be here to witness what others had sadly never had the chance to.

“I hadn’t thought so either, after my wife had passed away.” Andersmith spoke up, surprising her, “But, I became a bit more hopeful each day I spent around everyone here.”

“Blarg?” Junior looked at the two questioningly.

The lieutenant nodded at him with a smile, “Yes, that includes you as well, Junior.”

“Honk!” From how he jumped up and down in the air just then, it seemed as if Tucker’s son was sharing Andersmith’s sentiment.

“We have to help make sure it lasts then.” C.T. remarked, her lips pulling upwards slightly.

“Of course, Agent Connecticut!” Andersmith nodded and saluted, a grin on his face.

The Above Grounder couldn’t help but smile widely at the enthusiastic response, especially when another burst of confetti exploding into the air had Junior’s laughter flying around them. She decided that here’d be plenty of time later to finally get the older lieutenant to remember to just call her C.T..

After all, she thought all of her new friends should.

*****

Vanessa Kimball paused on her way into the hastily set-up medic tent, her mind racing. A part of her brain was in the process of informing herself that she didn’t necessarily need to do this.

After all, she had already checked up on everyone’s statuses briefly following their hurried and chaotic escape from the base. There was more than enough things on her plate, her brain further reasoned.

Plans needed to be set-up. There needed to be strategic contingencies about what the group would do and go depending on whether or not the trip to the Council went well. She definitely needed to help figure those out before leaving. It wasn’t as if the Resistance fighters and their allies would be staying on the side of a hollowed out mountain indefinitely.

She still had to go over what exactly the game plan would be in Above Ground too. A lot of it was dependent on whether or not they would be able to reach the Council at all, and if Hargrove was present with them or not when they then presented their evidence. That would be a trial in and of itself, she imagined. Especially with the _“shoot to kill”_ order still looming over her head.

Doyle said he had ways of making it into the building where the Council was located without detection due to his years of working there. She was putting a lot of faith in his ability to follow through on that. That alone was adding a ton to her growing list of worries.

She had to admit, Doyle’s general agreeableness after their talk earlier regarding the situation between the Slums and Above Ground, as well as his desire to stand with them in any capacity during this mission by guarding the transport since he could have easily remained hidden at Tex’s bunker? Along with his further desire to help them shed light on everything that had happened between Above Ground and the Slums?

At the very least, those actions caused her to view the Above Grounder in a slightly better light. For the moment.

The fact that Doyle had to run off to vomit due to nerves a while ago completely notwithstanding.

But, until Four Seven Niner gave the okay that they were ready to make the trip, Kimball knew she had time.

Besides, North had become something of a good friend over the years he had been with the Resistance. All of the former Freelancers had, but North had probably been one of the few people she had opened up to more, save for maybe Sarge.

If she didn’t do this now, the Resistance leader wouldn’t have a chance until much later on to check up with him in person. If something happened before then…

The dark-skinned woman sighed and pushed her way through the tent’s flap, finding the medical tent empty save for the unconscious figure lying on the ground with transportable monitoring equipment all around them, as well as her somber twin who was hovering over her silently.

Agent South Dakota’s status had stabilized to the point where Doctor Grey could make her rounds to tend to the other injuries at hand, but she still wasn’t in anywhere near an ideal condition.

Simply put, the Freelancer was in a coma at the moment.

Given where exactly her injury was located, there was also a very large possibility that she might be permanently paralyzed whenever she did wake up.

That was the reason why stepping into the tent alone had felt so terribly awkward, to say the least. Kimball stepped up to stand next to her friend, who didn’t even so much as twitch a muscle at her presence. His focus was entirely on South, and the machines she was hooked up to.

“I’m sorry, North.”

The words didn’t sound quite right or at all fitting, even as she spoke them. They never did whenever she had to offer any type of consolation to her friends or allies going through rough times on account of the fighting. She had always hated that about having to utter them.

The blond flinched, as if finally noticing that someone else had entered the tent, casting pale blue eyes in her direction. For a moment, it was as if he still wasn’t quite seeing her at all. Then, recognition on where exactly he was seemed to hit and he managed a grateful, albeit pained, sort of smile.

“It’s all right.” He frowned as soon as the words had come out of his mouth, shrugging, “Well, it isn’t, not really. But,” North let out a weak, strained laugh, “It wasn’t like things were going to be okay or uncomplicated between us even if this hadn’t happened, right?”

She said nothing to that, couldn’t really. The Slums dweller only knew the barest of details about what had happened between the two siblings. Besides, she had the distinct impression that North really hadn’t expected an answer to begin with.

The Above Grounder let out a quiet sigh, “We’ll just have to figure things out from here once she wakes up, I guess.” He glanced over his other shoulder, “Right, Theta?”

The tiny A.I. appeared at the mention of his name. He hovered hesitatingly, and it was obvious that he felt just as awkward over the situation as Kimball did. Sad as well, no doubt, given the hurt his partner was going through.

When Theta spoke though, he tried sounding as confident as he could for North’s sake, “Right, North!”

Theta cast a look over at Kimball as if to ask her if that was the best response he could have given. She smiled slightly and nodded to him encouragingly.

North was staring down at South again, smiling distantly, “Good boy, Theta.” He told the childlike A.I. Fragment, nodding towards the injured woman, “Besides, South is a fighter through and through. I doubt she’ll stay down for even as long as Doctor Grey thinks she will.”

Kimball had seen his sister fighting. She didn’t doubt there was some truth to what North was saying.

Instead of replying verbally, she touched North’s shoulder in a consoling gesture for a moment before letting her hand drop once more.

North gave her a small, grateful smile, “I’m as fine as I can be. Really.” He assured both her and the still present Theta just then, “Besides, you need to be getting ready, don’t’ you? Isn’t there a Council still to take on and all that?”

Kimball was about to her open her mouth to respond, when the tent flapped open again. A sharp burst of cold air came filtering in as a figure in red armor made his entrance.

Sarge clapped the Resistance leader comradely on the shoulder, the gesture lingering enough to be a reassuring one, before grinning, “She sure does! We can’t start that part of the party without her.”

The dark-haired woman looked at the Red Team leader in concern, “What about your injury?”

He guffawed, “It was a minor one at best. Doc actually patched me up just fine, and Doctor Grey gave me the all-clear to top it off.” The older man lowered his voice to a whisper, “Plus, she got a load of me shirtless too, which I consider a win-win.”

Despite the heavy atmosphere in the tent, Kimball couldn’t help but smile. It was nice for a change to see Sarge with a bit more of a spring in his step over something that didn’t involve warfare strategies.

“She’s great.” North mentioned quietly behind them, “South’s situation would be a lot worse if she weren’t such a good doctor.”

“Leave it to her and your sister will probably be walking again too. The little lady has a knack for cybernetics!”

There was a bit of an awkward silence following Sarge’s encouragement then, no doubt simply because so much of what would happen after South woke up was still left in the air. But, it was the thought that counted, and North nodded at the older soldier gratefully.

Sarge had insisted on coming along with the convoy group to Above Ground, so his coming here to retrieve her must mean that they were getting very close to being ready to move out.

Kimball glanced at North, his sibling, and Theta again. Then she looked over at the tent flap. Should she make another round, to check up on everyone else before leaving?

The Red Team leader seemed to read her mind, because he leaned forward just then to assure her, “I told everyone to keep a look out on one another while we’re gone.”

She nodded, thankful for the support. Her comm-link buzzed to life just then.

 _“We’re ready whenever you are.”_ Four Seven Niner’s voice spoke through it.

“Thank you, Niner.”

 _“I have the coffee and the hose ready.”_ The pilot supplied dryly.

Kimball smiled as well at the mention of that earlier conversation they’d had, “I have a feeling we might be needing both.”

 _“Figured as much.”_ She commented, _“It’ll be an interesting trip.”_

“Most definitely.”

The comm-link flickered back to silence again, and Kimball turned to nod her head at Sarge. She supposed now was as good a time as any.

She was actually more surprised to see that Donald Doyle had snuck into the tent as well while she had been conversing with everyone else.

The gold-trimmed man looked incredibly nervous and awkward standing there, “Ah, Miss Kimball?” He spoke up just then, “I’m terribly sorry to intrude…”

The Above Grounder was trying not to look over at South, and Kimball felt a bit of sympathy for him. She knew seeing injuries like this and the aftermath of fighting was never a pleasant experience, and Doyle wasn’t exactly as used to it as some of them were.

“But, it would probably be best if we hurried.” He seemed to gain more confidence as he spoke then, his back straightening a bit, “It’s prudent to catch the Council before Hargrove gets complete wind of what happened here.”

For once, a point that she couldn’t really argue with.

The Resistance leader cast one more glance over at North lost in his own thoughts again, and then over at Theta who nodded reassuringly that he would stick with his partner. Then she turned her attention to Sarge and Doyle, both of whom were waiting expectantly for her response.

Her own back straightened, “Right. Let’s get moving then.”

There was still a hell of a lot left to do before this whole situation could ever be considered truly resolved. Given what it had taken and the cost to reach this point, Kimball was damn sure going to see it start to happen now.

*****

A lot of things had been racing through Simmons’ mind ever since he woke up on the cold ground of Sidewinder in a tent that had been set up to deal with any medical situations that had arisen.

For starters, he was incredibly _fine_ , more or less, despite having been shot.

As Doctor Grey had explained, while the Above Grounder had definitely been injured due to the bullet and that explained the blood loss that had now been excellently dealt with as soon as the more pressing matter of reviving him from his other gunshot-related injury had been taken care of, the injury to his cybernetics had been what had ultimately nearly shut him down.

Basically, the dark-skinned woman had the knowledge necessary to jumpstart that part of his body. So, while she still believed a thorough examination and a full checkup and healing period were in order, he was already okay to move around so long as he didn’t stress things too much.

So, he’d nearly been down and out for the count because he was part machine now, but was also able to be on his feet again a lot quicker on account of that too. Simmons was honestly not sure what to make of that.

Truthfully, though, he had found it hard to focus on a lot of things since he had woken up. The general confusion of the situation was certainly a large factor as he had been out for a while during the really big moments and had to get filled in on all of those from the others, as did his general discomfort.

The redhead could move around freely according to Doctor Grey, but his wound still _hurt_ and there was an ache in the cybernetics that now took up the functions of his heart and lungs due to said injury too and how long they had been at low-power. Which had also equated to an ache in the rest of his body as well. His head in particular _really_ fucking hurt.

Also, having Grif hugging him as he woke up before he’d even begun to process his thoughts had done a damn good job of short-circuiting his brain too, while causing the rest of his body to go into overdrive.

Grif must have apparently realized what he was doing and just how awkward it was, because he had pretty much bolted the second his own thoughts seemed to have formed on the situation. All the while, leaving Simmons to wonder just what the hell had happened.

Truthfully, the cyborg wasn’t sure he could necessarily take the knowing looks that had been sent his way from Sarge, Doctor Grey, Doc, and Donut.

Simmons was grateful when Sarge had excused himself to go get ready to head off with Kimball to confront the Council with their findings, though why the older soldier needed to use a _"secret exit"_ by lifting up the back of the tent instead of just the actual entrance he still couldn't quite figure out.

The Above Grounder had pretty much bolted himself the second afterward to follow Grif, ignoring the equally knowing and surprised looks that went his way from Grif’s sister and the other younger Resistance recruits outside.

The redhead honestly didn’t know what was going on with a lot of things right now. They had won, he knew that. In a way, he could scarcely believe it but he knew it was true.

They had actually fucking _won_.

He didn’t even register the cold really as his mind went through the reel of endless thoughts and concerns it was trying to navigate, though that also was due to his body being more temperature controlled as well thanks to his cybernetics.

Even as he wanted to celebrate that victory a little, Simmons couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next all the same. He’d heard enough snippets around the area to know that was a question largely up in the air for everyone else too.

Kimball, Doyle, and a few other representatives would be heading immediately to Above Ground to speak with the Council and present them with the information they had managed to get from what used to be the base at this location. They’d provide them with hard evidence of Hargrove’s machinations not only against the Slums, but his massive power plays within the government of Above Ground as well.

It would all really depend on how the rest of the Council and those in power ended up responding.

Would a ceasefire even be possible given how long hostilities had been going on between the two sides, even with the newfound evidence of how so much of this new particular conflict had started from manufactured hostility? Would Above Ground _finally_ allow residents of the Slums full citizenry and rights, or grant them full travel access?

Would Hargrove and those who had gone along with him be punished? Would his being removed from power create a vacuum in the Council that would end up causing something even worse to happen?

What would happen to Simmons’ own father in light of everything?

The cyborg knew now that the asshole had known all along about what was really going on, had even allowed his own son to unknowingly take part in it. The redhead had no doubt that his father’s name would show up in those intel files somewhere. He knew his dad would be massively disappointed regarding Simmons’ involvement with the Resistance now, but honestly he didn’t give a fuck about that anymore.

There were a lot of questions that would need definite answers in the upcoming days. Countless ones, really. With both complicated and simple answers.

But, at this moment? None of that mattered to Simmons as much as catching up to Grif did.

The redhead had nearly thought that he had lost the Slums dweller yet again before his own injury, and Grif had evidently been just as terrified about losing him too if that bone-crushing hug had been any indication.

Simmons wasn’t about to let either of them run away from _this_ anymore, especially now that there was finally a chance to not have it be on the backburner for once.

He actually caught up to Grif not too far away from where the tents were.

The dumbass had run out into the freezing terrain without his armor on, so it was pretty understandable why he wasn’t going far. The tan-skinned man was standing at a rock outcropping that shielded him from the others’ view, teeth chattering loudly.

“You might have a layer of blubber, fat ass, but running out without proper gear on still wasn’t a bright idea.” Simmons joked the second he got near enough to.

Grif’s lips were turning slightly blue, but he stopped shivering enough to give him the finger, “Says the nerd who is comprised of a whole lot of fucking metal.”

“I have body temperature regulators now though.” The cyborg retorted, standing next to Grif by the outcropping wall.

“So, you’re a space heater?” The Slums dweller asked, managing to somehow sound both mocking and impressed all at once, “See, Simmons? Being…a cyborg has some p—perks.”

Simmons knew Grif was probably referring to the fact that he wasn’t a whole lot worse off now given what had happened earlier. He supposed he couldn’t argue that point, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to talk a ton about it either.

“Still fucking freezing though.” Simmons shivered for added emphasis, glancing at Grif worriedly.

The orange-wearing man was definitely not looking too good for racing out in the cold temperatures of Sidewinder like he had, and there was the tell-tale sign of blood showing through his bandages again.

“You saved everyone, you know.” Simmons was suddenly talking, unbidden, “By—by opening up the hole in the shielding. If you hadn’t, everyone would be dead now.”

Grif was staring at the Above Grounder as if he was taking a few moments to process his speech. So, Simmons felt the need to really push forward regardless.

“Fuck it! That was pretty kick ass. In any other situation, I would have probably wanted nothing more than to be sitting right next to you when it was happening and laughing.” The redhead continued, ignoring how his face had turned hot despite the sharp freezing temperatures they were in, “But, then I saw you afterwards. I remembered all of your injuries and I…”

The maroon-wearing man took a deep breath, willed himself not to cry, “All I could think about was how fucking scared I was that I had lost you.”

Simmons had _needed_ to get to him just then. That had been his only thought when he had seen Grif lying there. If the cyborg could have just gotten to him, maybe he could have—

“You’ve been nothing but one impressive nerd who has gone out of his way to save my ass and a whole shitload of strangers’ asses too when you didn’t have to.” Grif said just as quickly, interrupting the Above Grounder’s thoughts.

Simmons stared at him, surprised at the intense look that had crossed over Grif’s features.

“W—when you got shot, when you were lying there and not moving?” The Slums dweller frowned, looking both angry and scared all at once, “I thought…I thought I’d lost you.”

Grif sighed before continuing, “That fucking scared the shit out of me.”

They stared at one another for a moment, the look that passed between the two of them managing to convey what felt like a fucking _lifetime_ of words and emotions all at once.

Then they were laughing and, though both would vehemently deny it to anyone who asked about it later, crying. Suddenly they were _kissing_ one another as if a dam had just fucking broke and the only way either of them would be able to survive was to suck the air from the others’ lungs.

When they pulled away reluctantly quite some time later, it felt like it was both an eternity and yet way too damn short all at once for Simmons’ liking, their faces were both very much flushed from more than just the cold. Their arms were still gripping onto one another as if they both needed the other for a lifeline.

That was most likely the case, now that Simmons thought about it. He pulled Grif into an even tighter embrace for a split second, the two relaxing and melting into one another.

“L—let’s continue this later, okay?” Simmons finally managed to get out, knowing, albeit reluctantly, that they probably should get back to the tent.

“You mean once we’re all healed up and not freezing our asses off?” Grif joked back, an unsuppressed tint of eagerness in his voice at the prospect.

The cyborg nodded, pulling away from Grif to allow the Resistance fighter to lean against him for support as they made their way back towards the tent they had left earlier.

Simmons knew there were a lot of concerns and issues that would need addressing in the days that followed. As his anxiety threatened to overtake him, Grif pulled him in closer. The tan hand resting on his shoulder a reassuring one.

Still, as long as everyone here was safe? As long as he knew Grif was okay, and that they would be sticking together from here on out?

Well, that knowledge alone was enough to drive all of the other matters away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza, this final chapter definitely was a long time coming!
> 
> I am so, SO sorry that it took as long as it did to get this chapter posted. It was supposed to be out much earlier, but real life has been drop-kicking me a ton these past few months and unfortunately hasn’t been really letting up at all. Amidst a whole lot of personal crises and family medical problems, work on the story seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Even though it ended up being one of the longer chapters for this fic, I apologize for the lateness.
> 
> In the end, this story had more of a “the journey is more important than the destination” feel to it and I’ve been worried about just how the ending would play out. To be honest, I don’t know if the ending is a good one or not given that. All I can really say about this chapter is that I hope, at the very least, it wasn’t too terrible and that some sections and moments in it were enjoyable even with the longer wait!
> 
> Next up (and hopefully in a way faster time frame!) is the Epilogue to see what is going on with everyone past this point in the plot, and then I will be stepping away from the _Above Ground_ -verse for a bit to focus on some other _RvB_ stories I’ve had in the works. I have mixed feelings about that too, honestly. I’m glad to have reached the end of such a long project, but sad to see it end as well since I really loved fleshing out this verse and seeing how the characters and relationships developed in it.
> 
> It’s been a pleasure writing _AG_ even when I struggled with getting chapters out due to things going on, and I just want to thank everyone who has stuck with the story and enjoyed it so far. Thank you so much, and I hope that this final chapter and the Epilogue will both be satisfactory to you! You guys have really kept me going, and I can’t thank you enough for that. I hope to see you at the Epilogue and with some of my other stories too! :D


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Richard “Dick” Simmons knew it was well past time. He knew that, _had_ known it, in the back of his mind for years, in every instant when he came home and saw not a trace of himself in his house beyond a few childhood knick-knacks in his bedroom.

All of the furniture and decorations had mostly been his mother’s. His father’s items had long since been moved out well before she had even passed away. He had never felt at “home” here, especially once she was gone. But, he hadn’t had the heart to move anything, to really add anything of his own into the mix.

Perhaps it had been a childish sense of simply not wanting to diminish his mother’s presence, or a fear of not wanting to change things for his father. Or maybe it was a fear of something else coming through and changing everything, uprooting him both literally and figuratively.

But, the odds of that happening were significantly low. Had been probably all the while, but even more so now that Hargrove had been ousted from the Council after all of his crimes had come to light. Especially now that there was a tentative peace building between the Slums and Above Ground.

For the first time in a long while, Simmons could say that he was actually proud to be a soldier, working on a joint task force with other Above Ground military and members of the Resistance to help ensure that the peace would happen.

Hargrove and his supporters had fled, including his father. If the senior Simmons was ever found he would be arrested.

So, yes, it was more than past time to do this.

Yet, the cyborg still sat in an almost catatonic state in the one chair that remained in what had been his father’s room in the house, surrounded by the boxes of impersonal things that had once adorned the space his father had so often preferred instead of spending time with his family.

There was a giddy sense of both freedom and panic building inside him. When Simmons had been a child, he hadn’t been allowed to step one foot into this space, let alone touching anything in it.

Putting everything into boxes to be taken away, to use the room and reshape it in any way he saw fit? It was almost too overwhelming.

He nearly wanted to cry, but not in the same way he had when he’d packed up some of his mother’s things. Unlike his father’s items, some remnants of his mother such as furniture or her favorite art and decorative pieces would remain and only be added to. Her memories and presence were warm ones.

No, this time, his wanting to cry wasn’t due to sadness. Well, maybe there was _some_ sadness for what had never been. But, there was relief too. Even if he had to keep telling himself that the man wouldn’t be running in any second to scold him.

His nerves nearly got the best of him when the door opened behind him, though the redhead managed to jump only a little bit and covered up his sniffling with an oh-so-subtle rub of his hand over his nose.

“Hey.”

It was Grif, though he knew logically it would be since he was only other person in the house. Kai was still living with them, though now that her brother was healed she had started to quite loudly voice her declaration of wanting to officially move in with her girlfriend.

Having the two Grif siblings temporarily living with him had been what had prompted all of this in the first place. While the Slums dweller had been pretty much under bedrest following Sidewinder in order to finally get his body to properly heal, Grif had gotten Simmons back into the habit of talking about _everything_ again.

Simmons had admitted to not feeling like this place was really his yet, and Grif had wanted to know what would help him see it that way. The solution had come to Simmons pretty quickly following that.

“H—hey.” He greeted, as Grif sat down next to him on one of the crates.

“Kai went off with her friends just now.” The tan man informed him, “Kind of figured she wouldn’t want to help with taking all of this out.”

Simmons threw him a watery smile, “Honestly, I’m shocked _you_ are, fat-ass.”

Grif smirked, “Well, if that’s your attitude I _could_ just go back to my third nap of the day.”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s a day off. Shouldn’t you use it to be more productive?”

“We have _very_ different ideas of what to do on days off, Simmons.” Grif informed him blankly.

Before Simmons could argue further, he sighed, “Besides, I said I’d help you before so I’m stuck doing it now.”

“Wow.” He deadpanned, “Your graciousness is apparent.”

“Whatever, nerd.” Grif grinned, which immediately had Simmons doing the same.

For a few moments, there was silence before Grif spoke up again, hesitatingly as he glanced around the boxed up space, “So, you really want my input on how things should look in here?”

Simmons nodded, face turning red again.

That had been one of his main ideas with this project all along. In order for this place to finally feel like home to Simmons, he wanted, _needed_ it to feel like one for Grif too. A place where both of could be comfortable living. Surprisingly enough, Grif hadn’t mocked him for that when the Above Grounder had told him that in a stuttering voice.

He’d only stared at him as if looking at something truly incredible before grabbing onto his hands and pulling him into a kiss with an affectionate “ _kiss-ass_ ” that was followed promptly by a “ _dumbass_ ” from Simmons.

He glanced over at Grif, “Have you decided anything yet?”

The Resistance fighter looked contemplative, “Not yet. First we need to get these things out of here and work from there.”

“Right.” He sighed, knowing that was true yet still feeling that odd mix of emotions, “G—give me a second?”

“However long you need.” Grif’s voice was understanding, and Simmons felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in close to Grif’s warmth.

He sighed, feeling himself calming down already and feeling immensely thankful for Grif’s presence in his life. The redhead needed some way to help show the other that too.

“Hey, Grif?” He asked as an idea came to him just then, closing his eyes.

“Hmm?” The Slums dweller sounded lazily content.

“When this is finished,” Simmons smiled nostalgically, “I want to show you something.”

*****

The air was crisp and each breath sent a jolt through C.T.’s body, starting from her lungs. The sun, now fully out after days of hiding behind the clouds, was helping to warm her skin just a bit on what otherwise might be just a way too chilly morning.

She paused on the steps to the hospital, frowning somewhat. It was a bizarre experience to be back in Above Ground again. Even more so to be back in Above Ground without having to wear the protective concealment of her armor.

She glanced back, witnessing the commotion still going on in the streets behind her. The building she was about to enter was located close to one of the many underground tunnel entrances.

Normally, what would be of very little concern to the citizenry here. They were always sealed off under the highest of computer code, with perhaps a guard or two during particularly stressful times. But, they’d been so often not used that it had been easy enough for the vast majority of Above Ground citizens to simply forget and live life as though, kilometers and kilometers below their feet, there hadn’t been people trying to etch out a living after being deemed “unfit” to live topside generations ago.

But, now? Now that spot was still _definitely_ something of an attention-grabber, even weeks after the decree had finally come through that the entrances were to be left unsealed and that travel and trade between both regions had become permissible again.

The Council’s ruling had come as quite a shock at first, but as news filtered to the ranks as to _why_ it was happening and people saw that the Slums having access to the top wasn’t going to cause anything to explode into flames, it had now simply became a major point of curiosity. It was quite the opposite of an explosion, really. It actually proved lucrative to several businesses.

The brunette suspected this would become the norm eventually too, once everyone became used to the new routine. After all, it had caused an equal amount of stirring in the Slums as well, but right now there was still a large adjustment period for everything.

With that in mind, she supposed it was time to try a bit of that “adjusting” too herself. With a sigh, she stepped through the large glass doors of the hospital.

C.T. had never been a fan of these places, but she supposed this more civilian-suited one was slightly less cold and sterile than the medical wings were that you would find yourself in if training or a mission went awry.

The few staff members she saw often seemed friendly and conversed with their patients. It was a trait she’d only associated with Doctor Grey, despite her more unnerving commentary at times, and Medic DuFresne in the more military-minded medical circles.

Still, she had to choke back the sudden sense of unease that nearly overwhelmed her when she stepped inside and got a good look at the hospital. Her hand was clutching onto the bottom of the colorful bouquet she was currently gripping with nearly enough force to bend the thick grouping of stems back when a nurse pushed someone in a wheelchair past her.

Yes, she’d definitely seen far too many of the insides of facilities just like this one over the years. She imagined most of her compatriots probably felt the same.

Despite this being her first time visiting, she expertly bypassed the nurse’s station and its patient registry. She might not have been here earlier, but she had already learned the room and floor number of where she was heading by heart.

C.T. was surprised, however, that her meticulous information-gathering, if one could call simply _asking_ her friends for the information well in advance, proved completely unnecessary when she caught sight of a woman with pale blond hair with orchid highlights sitting on a bench in a garden atrium designed for patients and visitors alike.

If the hair hadn’t been an obvious giveaway as to who she was, then the scowl and ready-to-pounce body language would have certainly done the trick.

The former Freelancer made her way out into the atrium, a slight smile on her face at the obvious improvement in the other woman’s condition already. She sat down beside her on the bench and looked out at the idyllic landscape and other people milling about there, instinctively knowing to give the patient a wide berth of space.

Agent South Dakota barely turned her head to acknowledge C.T.’s presence, a scoff making its way past her lips, “Those had _better_ not fucking be for me.”

She was obviously referring to the bouquet of flowers that C.T. was carrying.

York had once brought South flowers as a joke of sorts after a training mishap. The subsequent beat down that had occurred gave new meaning to the “ _a rose has thorns_ ” saying.

The brunette shook her head, willing the nostalgic memory to fade although thinking back didn’t hurt nearly as much anymore, but there was always a lingering touch of sadness even to overall fond recollections, “No, these are for the memorial.”

The recently built one to immortalize all of the innocents that had been killed as a result of power plays by those higher up in Above Ground. It had been built in the center of the city, appropriately right next to where both the governmental headquarters of the Council was as well as the location of the first tunnel that had been built, and subsequently sealed until just recently, between the Slums and topside.

A fountain, made to be identical to the very one that still stood in Level One, as directly in line with one another as science could allow given the distance between them. It was a symbolic gesture that held quite a bit of weight to many people for differing personal reasons. C.T. included.

“I heard that they finally finished that thing.” South hummed in acknowledgment, tapping a knee thoughtfully, “Took them long enough for a glorified water sprinkler.”

“Well, there were a lot of other things that took priority beforehand.” C.T. admitted.

“I know.” A snort escaped South as she leaned back on the bench, closing her eyes, “It’s a shame I wasn’t awake to see when they exposed that dipshit Hargrove’s plans to him and the rest of the old geezers. Heard his whole turning tail and running thing was pretty hilarious.”

C.T. hadn’t been there either for that part of the story, though she’d heard a great deal about it later on from those who had been.

_Because they were pressed for time, evidently Four Seven Niner had literally decided a roof landing was their best bet. Following that, a combination of force and Doyle’s clout due to his many years of faithful service to the Council had been enough to push them the rest of the way through the surprised guards and onlookers into the main Council chamber, where Kimball had wasted no time in presenting their findings from Sidewinder to the bewildered Council members._

_Their turning against Hargrove rather unanimously given his coup plans had, York and Sarge both assured her later, been a sight to behold. As had Hargrove’s face twisting with rage and turning purple at his scheming having been so thoroughly exposed without anything for him to count as a major victory._

She would have loved to have seen that herself, in particular.

No, the only downside to all of that had been that Hargrove had apparently still had enough followers to escape custody shortly afterwards. But, there was now a combined effort to track him down and his overall support in both populated regions was gone. Not that he had had _any_ in the Slums to begin with. Thus, making him ineffectual as far as threats went currently.

Still, it made things rather bitter all the same that he’d evaded any kind of real justice for what he’d done. At least most of his influence had been gone from the subsequent diplomatic talks following the immediate ceasefire of hostilities from Above Ground to the Slums.

That whole process was still an understandably slow-going, delicate one given the history between the two places. But, without Hargrove and his followers adding fuel to the fire and the Resistance now publicly considered something of _“heroes”_ even amongst the Above Ground populace for their actions in preventing his complete takeover, there was progress all the same.

One couldn’t stress how free travel for the Slums residents for the first time topside was a huge step forward, even if more work still needed to be done elsewhere.

“It’s pretty impressive that you’re awake just a few months afterwards, all things considered.” C.T. informed her former teammate, “Even more so that you’re moving around.”

The Above Grounder smirked, “Yeah, I’d heard that my prognosis hadn’t exactly been the greatest.”

Potentially permanent paralysis following waking up from a coma. South was downplaying things rather considerably.

“You’re tough.” The brunette informed her, “Combining that with Doctor Grey’s skills, it’s no wonder you’ve improved so much.”

South chuckled, “I bet she just scares most people into recovering even before she looks them over.”

“Wouldn’t shock me in the slightest.” C.T. looked over at the other woman with mild concern though, despite how she looked more or less fine even with her longer hospital stay, “Still, are you actually allowed to be moving around the hospital on your own yet?”

The last thing the Resistance fighter had heard about South’s situation and recovery, which hadn’t been that long at all really since she’d conversed with North just the other day, had been that South was only technically being permitted limited movement without medical supervision. Her recovery had been phenomenal so far, all things considered, but there was still concern that she could do her body more harm than good if she pushed it too far while it was still healing.

South had been sitting here by herself, which probably meant she was listening to the doctors’ orders here about as well as she ever had during the Project.

Her former teammate scoffed, “Please, I know my own body better than those pushy doctors.” She said derisively, “They say I’ll be good enough to work in a few months with therapy. I say it will be a month or two. Tops.”

C.T. must have not seemed completely convinced, because a dark look crossed over South’s features and she turned her head to glower at the plants around them, “Don’t start any bullshit about me needing to take it easy.” She said stiffly, “I’ve already heard more than enough of that coddling crap from North to last a fucking lifetime.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that he and Theta were dropping in to check on you and make sure you weren’t bashing any doctor’s heads in whenever they had the time.”

“He’s been that way ever since we were little.” She let out a huff of air, rolling her eyes, “He’s being a fucking idiot.”

C.T. raised an eyebrow, “You don’t want him to visit then?”

She imagined that if South had been readily against him coming around, if she had voiced it to him, her brother would have stayed away and respected her wishes.

Obviously, South knew that too as she looked decidedly uneasy about the question, “Not necessarily.” She finally admitted at length, “But, if I was in his position, I wouldn’t be coming around here at all. Much less bringing an A.I. anywhere near me.”

C.T. sighed herself, “Things have always been complicated.”

“Yeah, and that word seriously fucking pisses me off now.” South frowned, “But, he’s always been a way too forgiving idiot.”

C.T. almost expected an accusation then given her own past actions, but was surprised instead when the other woman simply looked over at her, “I think all of you guys are, though.” She remarked, “You know you’re the last one to come and visit me?”

The brunette blinked in surprise, “Even Wyoming beat me to it?”

“Yep.” A nod, “Even Wyoming.” South grinned, “He gave me a package of herbal tea even though I hate the stuff. Asshole.”

“We do all have odd senses of humor.” C.T. glanced down at the bouquet in her lap, thinking that perhaps she should call Andersmith and inform him that she’d be late.

They had been the last of their comrades to visit the memorial site, deciding to go together in friendly solidarity while they put down flowers in memory of those they’d both personally lost. He’d finally started calling her just _“C.T.”_ when they’d made the plans to do so.

But, she didn’t really want to be late for a meeting with one friend while another still seemed conversational—

“Speaking of both idiocy _and_ humor,” South was mulling out loud just then and it interrupted her thoughts, “I’ve asked Kimball if I could be on bodyguard duty once I’ve fully recovered.”

That caught the brunette’s attention, and she glanced over to see South smirking at nothing in particular.

“I bet that would really mess with North and some of the other tight asses’ heads, huh?”

C.T. couldn’t help but smile in agreement, “No doubt.” She admitted.

“Only problem is, since North is practically glued to her hip now that they’re friends or whatever, I’d be seeing a lot of him. But, I guess it would force conversation. Or something.” South shrugged, acting nonchalant over the matter, “Amongst the others too.”

Yes, since Kimball was pretty much the representative of the Slums to the Council, the Freelancers were often helping to guard her for understandable safety concerns, along with Doyle and the Council themselves in light of the recent developments and changes in governmental policy. Though Sarge and Tucker both insisted that the Reds and Blues could handle things on their own still.

C.T. grinned, “Would be hard to ignore you that way.”

“Exactly.” South sneered back, “I think I could get a few good recommendations. Not to mention call in a few favors.”

In a weird way, despite the uneasiness of being around South due to the past, it was oddly relieving to hear that she was thinking of sticking around once she was better.

C.T. wondered if being a part of Blue Team had made her hopelessly sentimental in a way, and she decided then and there that she didn’t mind if it had.

“Ah, sorry it took so long.” A voice suddenly spoke up, “The coffee around here is shit.”

C.T. was shocked when Four Seven Niner trotted into view, holding out two coffee cups in her hands.

South scowled, “What did you do, fly across the fucking city for those?”

Niner didn’t miss a beat, “No, but one of them _could_ be making a round trip to your face if you aren’t careful.”

The two women rolled their eyes at the same time as Niner handed South one of the beverages.

The pilot glanced at C.T. then, “Hey, look who’s here too.” She said in way of greeting, “I would’ve picked you up something if I’d known.”

C.T. blinked, unsure of how to respond. Since when had the two of them become friends? South had cussed out Niner several times during missions before, and the pilot had always made it a point to pretty much ignore her as a result, “Er…”

“She just stopped by on her way somewhere else.” South informed the tan woman when it appeared as though C.T. was at a loss of words, taking a grateful sip of coffee.

“I see.” Niner nodded her head, “Can’t tempt you to stay longer then? This one’s such a _great_ conversationalist, after all.”

Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. South gave the pilot the finger in response, though there was no actual animosity on display throughout the exchange at all.

“You’re just lucky I need you to sneak me in good java.” She muttered into her cup a moment later.

“Well, a love of caffeine _is_ about your only redeeming trait.” Niner squeezed in to sit between the two Above Grounders, taking a relishing gulp of her own beverage.

C.T. couldn’t help but grin, watching the two sipping their drinks in quiet amicability. Perhaps healing and miracles really could happen.

By the time she’d excused herself and contacted Andersmith to let him know she was on her way, C.T. held the bouquet closer to her with a slightly more hopeful bounce in her step. _“Not a problem, C.T. The others said they would wait up for us at the park before starting.”_ was his immediate reply.

She was actually looking forward to having the chance to hang out with just the lieutenants for a change of pace afterwards too. She’d have to try her hardest to not slip into her “gossiper” days later on today when hanging out more with Andersmith and others, all while resisting the urge to message some of her other friends to boot.

After all, it was something both Wash _and_ him had so often teased her about doing when she was younger.

*****

C.T. was _so_ going to tease him about this later, Washington decided as he gazed at the orange tabby cradled in Junior’s arms. Not that Tucker wasn’t doing a fine job of that already.

“Really, Wash?” The dark-skinned man had his head cocked to the side with an amused glint building up in his eyes despite the obviously fake exasperation building up in his voice, “We haven’t even _moved_ up here for more than a couple of weeks and you decided to get us a pet?”

The cat in question meowed on cue, leaping out of Junior’s arms to run over to her new food bowl. This caused an excited squeal to erupt from the boy, who followed afterwards to watch his new friend chow down.

Washington sighed at the reminder of recent events, his face turning slightly red at the indirect mention.

With the Resistance spending more time now in Above Ground to ensure that the peace transitional talks continued at a good pace, and with the members of Red and Blue Team in particular having to be topside more often than not as a result to help guard Kimball, Washington had sort-of volunteered his apartment to Tucker’s small family.

If only because Tucker had been complaining loudly about not knowing where to even start looking for temporary residency up here, and how he understandably didn’t appreciate how the few ones he had found seemed to have landlords or neighbors who glanced at Junior with suspicion and paranoia.

It had caused more than a bit of eyebrow waggling from the younger Slums dweller due to their recent relationship developments, as by that point everyone in their lives knew that the one “dinner date” that Washington had owed Tucker and Junior following Sidewinder had become a pretty consistent event in their lives.

Those eyebrow waggles in turn caused Washington to get rather red in the face, but Tucker had been more grateful and relieved by the offer than anything else. The appreciative hug he had gotten in return once Tucker had been sure it wasn’t going to be a major bother for the Freelancer had been more than enough to knock any hesitation about suggesting the idea completely out of Washington’s mind.

It had also caused even more redness to engulf his freckles, and when he returned the gesture gratefully he’d had to remind himself to actually let go as well when Tucker reluctantly pulled away from the embrace.

The Above Grounder sighed, “Well, Doc and Donut had found her over by where they go to their weekend farmer’s market.”

“Oh, yeah!” Tucker nodded thoughtfully, “Donut keeps swearing I should go for the nut selection there alone.”

The innuendo was not lost on the former Freelancer, but he ignored it, “You should wait for winter then.” Washington informed him, having already caught more than enough of a glimpse at the matching _“shopping spree”_ outfits that the Donut and Doc couple wore when they had begged him to help find a home for the abandoned cat.

He didn’t even think either of them _owned_ a bike, let alone why their bike shorts had to be so…so _very_ short to begin with.

Tucker seemed to read his mind, “Dude, if you think the cold would get Donut to bundle up more, you’re going to be in for a shock!”

Washington decided to focus the conversation back to the cat for the sake of his own continued sanity, “Doc had somehow heard that I had cats before and, well…”

Thankfully, his parents had really come through on that end when Washington had not been of the right frame of mind to really take care of himself, let alone any other living creatures. They’d bonded so much with the two felines that Washington had decided even after things had settled down that it was best for them to stay at his parents’ home where he could always visit them if he wanted to.

“And you fell in love at first sight, right?”

Tucker finished the story for the Above Grounder after he had trailed off, glancing from a sheepish-looking agent to the huge basket of newly purchased cat toys already out in the center of the living room. The toys explained why no one had been here earlier when Tucker had come to check on the two following catching up on a mission report from an eagerly-wanting-to-get-away Andersmith before, back to his son gushing over the feline, “ _Both_ of you did.”

“Yeah.” Washington admitted quietly, almost as though he was afraid that saying he had a soft spot for animals, and particularly cats, would lose him valuable Freelancer street cred with Tucker or anyone else.

It was a monumental struggle on Tucker’s part to keep from laughing. Tucker sighed, acting as though the whole matter was a huge inconvenience that he needed to deliberate quite a bit on. He saw Washington fidgeting nervously a bit more. Damn it, he was just _that_ good at acting!

“Well, it is your place and you’re letting us stay here for free. So, if I complained, that would just make me a huge dick.”

Washington looked ready to protest that despite the hopeful glimmer now spreading across his eyes. He _wanted_ Tucker to feel like he had a say in this apartment too, after all, because…

“Besides,” Tucker continued on as he watched his son playing with the feline contentedly, interrupting Washington’s train of thought, “Junior’s always wanted a pet.”

He grinned when he caught Washington’s gaze again, “Our crappy residence level in the Slums didn’t allow them, and domestic pets weren’t easy to find underground anyways.”

After everything that Junior had been through, having a pet was a great experience for him. A sign that hopefully things would get better for the small child from here on out. Tucker wasn’t even aware that his eyes had watered slightly until he dabbed at them absentmindedly with the back of his hand.

Washington had put a hand on his shoulder, a knowing look in his gray eyes. They both smiled slightly at one another. Maybe they needed that sign just as much as Junior did.

With Washington’s hand still on his shoulder in a supportive gesture, Tucker called out to his son, “Hey, kiddo, have you picked out a name for your new buddy yet?”

“Honk!” Junior exclaimed loudly, the cat rubbing up against his fingers while purring happily.

Tucker frowned slightly, “I think _Freckles_ is already taken, Junior.”

Yeah, they definitely didn’t need Caboose trying to demonstrate why his Freckles was the superior one later on down the road.

Junior frowned, apparently not sure what else to call the animal at the moment.

“Well, this kitty happens to be a girl and there’s a bit of red mixed in with her coloring.” Washington spoke up just then, and Tucker wasn’t even going to ask how he possibly knew the cat’s gender, “How about we call her Ruby?”

“Blarg!” Junior nodded his head in eager excitement at the name suggestion, his grin becoming larger than it had been before.

“A name even Sarge would be proud of.” Tucker joked.

Washington actually _genuinely_ laughed. For once all of the possible teasing, the threat still from Hargrove and his currently missing supporters, all of the work that still needed to be done? All of that were the farthest things from the Freelancer’s mind just then.

It seemed that the three of them had all needed this moment, and there wasn’t a damn thing about it that he would change.

*****

As far as “triple” dates go, or whatever the fuck it was that they were doing, Leonard Church supposed things could have been weirder.

“Oh, Church, they have ice cream on waffles!” Caboose exclaimed loudly, jabbing his finger at the electronic tablet displaying the menu right in front of the other man without any regard to his personal space whatsoever, “Want to split it?”

The Above Grounder groaned, tried counting to ten and getting into his happy place, which he was still convinced was burned down, and found that he had failed miserably, “You’ve had about two meals already, Caboose. Even before we got here!”

The last thing he really wanted to deal with was the younger blond from Blue Team complaining about stomach aches later on.

“Aw, it’s sweet you keep track for him.” Tex chimed in mockingly.

He didn’t miss a beat, “Shut up, bitch.”

He turned back to the large member of Blue Team who had decided they were best friends, “Besides, I’m a robot. Remember?” Church tried using reasoning, “I don’t eat.”

“That’s okay then!” Caboose beamed, “I can split it with Freckles instead.”

“AFFIRMATIVE!” The gun sitting precariously in its own chair next to Caboose agreed, sounding absolutely excited at the prospect. Yeah, the waiter had definitely done a double-take on _that_ when they sat down at the table.

Church sighed, “You don’t even have a fucking mouth!” He shot back at the V.I. before crossing his arms over his chest in a huff as his rant continued, “This whole thing is beyond pointless to begin with.” He informed them, “Of the nine of us here, five are goddamned robots!”

Tex still seemed way too amused by his outbursts, even with her foot on his shin underneath the table. He had a feeling that rather intimate gesture could turn into a rather violent one that would cost him a shitload of money to repair if he really ended up upsetting her, “Your point is?”

“Why the fuck are we deciding to use our rare and valuable free time to sit at a restaurant?”

York glanced over at him from a shared look he gave to Carolina. The two were sitting close together and sharing a menu in what was one of the rare moments of public displays of affection his cousin had ever displayed, “Because some of us _are_ human and we haven’t had the chance to eat in more than twelve hours.” He remarked jovially before turning to Caboose, “Why don’t I split with you and Freckles, buddy?”

“Yay!” This idea seemed to be quite a hit with Caboose, who loved sharing things with friends evidently.

A burst of confetti came from the gun as well. Church only just barely resisted the urge to kick the chair out from under it since he didn’t want a whole bunch of bullets fired into his metallic ass.

“I thought it was a nice way to spend a relaxing day.” Sheila remarked softly from her spot at the table.

“Sólo quería pasar tiempo con Sheila y ver cómo reaccionarías a todo esto. Hasta el momento, no han decepcionado a cada cuenta.” _{“I just wanted to spend time with Sheila and see how you'd react to all of this. So far, I have not been disappointed on either count.”}_

The Spanish-speaking robot sitting next to Sheila put in his two credits as well, the two tilting their helmets together momentarily before pulling apart to remark on the odd menu item selections of the establishment.

“It _is_ a nice change of pace to constant guard duty or endless debate talks, Church.” North supplied helpfully.

“Or hunting down Hargrove and his cronies.” York added in.

He supposed they _did_ have him there. Even though that didn’t mean he still had to like it.

“Most of them have already been located.” Delta’s sudden appearance hovering over York’s shoulder was no longer too off-putting to anyone, “Only about ten percent remain still at large.”

“That’s still enough to potentially be a problem later on down the road if left unchecked, Delta.” Carolina, always practical in her thinking, stated.

He nodded his green helmeted head in agreement, “Indeed, Agent Carolina.”

Tex scoffed, “Give me three more weeks, and they’ll be none of them left to worry about.”

Carolina raised a red eyebrow, “Really? I think I could have it done in two.”

The other woman smirked in response, “Bet you we could do it in less than one working together.”

There was a pause over the table as Carolina pondered the female robot’s words. At length, she nodded with a slight smile crossing over her face, “Most likely.”

York whistled, “Is it wrong that I _almost_ feel sorry for those poor bastards now?”

“I wouldn’t.” Tex grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes that was explained a second later when her foot moved a fraction more underneath the table.

If he’d been human, Church was pretty sure he’d have jumped a bit at that point. As it was, he shifted in his seat, raising his eyebrows at Tex as she moved her foot away. The look back that she shot him was a teasing commentary for later. Which reminded Church that he _still_ needed to figure out a safe word.

North smiled and got up, his drink of tea only about halfway empty, “Well, this was nice, but I need to get going.” He informed them all.

“Oh, right.” York nodded his head in understanding, his and Carolina’s hands and arms were touching on the table, their pinkies entwined without anyone noticing when that had even happened, “That thing is today, isn’t it?”

North nodded, putting credits down for his beverage, “I’ll tell them you said hello.”

“Oh, joy.” The last thing Church needed was for Sarge of all people to show up on an impromptu visit waving his shotgun around.

If they had to get yet _another_ chair for a beloved weapon from the waiting staff, he was fairly certain they’d be banned from the restaurant entirely instead of just sitting in the outside area.

But, still, he supposed being able to have these kinds of sort-of relaxing moments at all with friends and barely tolerated acquaintances was a nice change of pace. All things considered.

“Oh, hey, guys!” a familiarly cheerful voice rang out from behind him.

It was joined by Doc laughing pleasantly, “Fancy running into you here for lunch too!”

Donut’s arm was wrapped over the purple medic’s shoulders, a basket of vegetables and other goods from their weekly farmer’s market run held like precious cargo in the dirty blond’s other hand.

The basket was held at perfect view to showcase their usual matching _“going out”_ attire.

Despite the groan that nearly came out of his mouth out of force of sheer habit at the sight, Church actually almost felt oddly content when the two men joined their little group a second later at everyone’s behest.

Maybe he needed to get himself looked over to make sure he was functioning properly, but right now? Church honestly found himself not giving a fuck.

*****

“Okay, so someone thought a radioactive lake was a good thing to put in a park _why_ exactly?” Bitters asked as he and his friends emerged from the cave out into the sunlight once more.

He squinted and held his hand up over his eyes to shield them for a few seconds, the others doing the same around him. Ever since they’d been traveling between the underground and topside more regularly, the light change to their eyes wasn’t nearly as extreme as it had been before, but it still took some getting used to.

“Well, it _is_ a pretty sight, isn’t it?” Jensen remarked, smiling and showing off her braces that minutes ago had been bathed in a soft green light, “Provided you stay the regulated safe distance away from it.”

“Or that you don’t go swimming in it!” Palomo added in, nodding sagely at his advice, “No matter how warm and inviting it looks.”

It had certainly not looked _“warm”_ or _“inviting”_ to go for a swim to Bitters, as most glowing green things tended to scream _“dangerously radioactive”_ to him, but he did have to admit that it had been an eerily beautiful sight all the same.

Though, even at the regulated safe distance, it had felt incredibly weird and just a tad risky to have been wandering in the cave without any armor on. Not that you really needed it for a day of enjoying yourself in Chorus Park, but still.

“You should totally come see it at night.” Kai told Bitters, winking over at Volleyball as she did so, “It’s an awesome make-out spot!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded before his brain actually registered what she had just said, “Wait, what?!?”

Kai made a face as though his needing clarification on what she had said was completely silly to her, “Well, we had to find some new spots to spend time in since Big Bro and the Gray Guy are _always_ going at it at Gray Guy’s house, and it would be rude to do it in front of Jensen!”

“Um!” Jensen’s tan, freckled face was now extremely red.

Bitters had almost forgotten that Kai and Captain Grif had been given temporary shelter in Captain Simmons’ home while everyone was still pretty much staying topside.

The Above Grounder had offered the same for the other younger recruits given the size of the place as evidently his father had been a big wig in the military though he didn’t like discussing that too much, and he had come from a long line of other big wigs besides. But, no one had wanted to be a third wheel to the finally together couple despite the generous offer.

They had all quickly found alternate housing at an apartment complex that hadn’t been opposed to renting out to Slums dwellers now that they were allowed to travel and live freely in Above Ground.

The only reason Kai hadn’t yet was because she had been helping to take care of Captain Grif’s injuries. But, now that he was more or less completely healed, Bitters knew that she was debating moving in with Jensen and Volleyball herself so that her brother and his boyfriend could finally have happy moments alone together now that things had settled down quite a bit.

“Hey, if they get too hot and heavy you can always hang out with us at our place, Jensen!” Palomo graciously offered the girl before adding in a lower tone, “Andersmith doesn’t put up with too many shenanigans when we’re all together. Just ask those guys!”

He jerked his thumb over in Bitters and Matthews’ direction just then, the auburn-haired young man turning red at the commentary.

Bitters did as well, but he managed to get out a customary _“Shut the fuck up, Palomo.”_ all the same.

“Well, thanks for the offer, but I kind of just go out to eat or to fix something outside if they need the space.” The girl explained, shifting awkwardly.

“Or we try to go somewhere else so it isn’t constantly her having to leave.” Volleyball added in.

Kai nodded her head in agreement, “Yeah, so that way it’s fair for everyone.”

“Oh.” Palomo almost looked deflated at the news before another hopeful look crossed over his features again, “Well, maybe next time you decide to go out, I could keep you company or something?”

Jensen blinked a second or so as she processed the question, before giving the dark-skinned young man a tentative nod, “Sure, why not?”

He grinned, glancing over at Bitters who shook his head in exasperation at his friend’s hopeful antics but couldn’t help smiling anyways.

Volleyball grabbed Kai’s hand then, grinning herself as the two shared a quick kiss on the lips, “Now where did we leave the picnic stuff again?” She asked when they pulled apart.

Kai’s face lit up at the mention of food, after all she _was_ her brother’s sister, “Right by that cluster of trees where Andersmith said he and C.T. would meet us at later.” She recalled, smiling brightly, “Good idea! I’m starving!”

With that, she pulled Volleyball along with her in the direction of the impromptu picnic they had set up before the lake tour earlier. As they passed by Jensen, Volleyball reached out and grabbed her friend’s hand too with a laugh, and she in turn pulled Palomo along as they passed him. All of them a laughing, energetic, happy train of friends.

Matthews, his face turning back to a slightly more normal color, went to hurry up and join them but was stopped by Bitters’ hand on his shoulder.

“We can catch up in a little while.” Bitters told him when he saw Matthews’ questioning glance before he reached over and kissed the other young man quickly.

Matthews returned the kiss eagerly, his face only turning slightly red as Bitters pulled him back towards the cave’s entrance. Palomo had been right about one thing: the apartment was a bit too cramped for a ton of privacy. Right now, with everyone happy and more or less at peace, they needed a moment to themselves too.

One of the things that Bitters had thought while glancing around that cavern earlier, even way before Kai had mentioned her antics with Volleyball in there, had been how absolutely _amazing_ Matthews would probably look fully bathed in that glowing green light.

*****

Vanessa Kimball frowned, feeling oddly out-of-place amidst the small gathering. She glanced at Sarge questioningly, who was standing beside an also looking tad out-of-place Doctor Grey and Doyle. Farther away from all of them stood Wyoming, the floating visage of Gamma next to him.

The Freelancer had joined the group after relaying some more information on the whereabouts of Hargrove that he had received from Locus earlier. The steel and green-armored mercenary had evidently beat him to a probable location once more, but had left intel for him to spread back to the proper channels in both the Slums and Above Ground. It was a proverbial cat and mouse game now between the two, though it seemed to only motivate Wyoming further in pursuing all parties involved.

“Are you certain you want us to be here?” She asked in a low voice, meaning herself and Doctor Grey.

The three men had decided that they wanted to pay their respects to the mysterious _“Butch”_ at the recently built memorial site.

In a way, Kimball understood why the doctor was in attendance given the dark-skinned woman’s new “acquaintanceship” with Sarge and the fact that she was fairly good friends with Doyle. Even though the Above Ground doctor had never personally met the man they wanted to pay respects to, she at least was connected more to the people who personally had.

But, herself?

“Of course, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place if I didn’t want you to come!” Sarge exclaimed matter-of-factly.

“You have been hard at work for the last several months and even before then for who knows how long. This is your first day off in forever!” Doctor Grey assessed, casting a critical eye over the other woman, “Someone has to make sure you don’t sneak back out into the field!”

“But—!” She began to protest, more than just a bit annoyed if that was the only actual reason as to why she was out here.

“Besides,” Sarge seemed to pick up on her thinking rather quickly just then, a trait it seemed he’d always been good at, “In a way, it’ll be good moral support.” His next words came out a bit softer, with a fond reminiscent edge to them, “I think he would have liked ya if you’d met. _All_ of them would have.”

She relaxed somewhat, realizing now that it was probably more that _Sarge_ needed support in this instance than anything else. They were paying their respects to an old friend, yes, but Sarge had also lost several other people who had mattered to him both well before he had ventured into the Slums to join the Resistance and afterwards. One of whom Kimball knew she had reminded him quite a bit of in the past.

Perhaps she could use this time to pay her respects to those she had lost as well. After all, all of them had last far too many people in their lives.

“Besides, Miss Kimball,” Doyle coughed awkwardly nearby, “Sarge said something about setting up a shooting range and toasting later on being a tradition of sorts for the two of you on days off?”

_That_ brought back a ton of memories, and she caught a nostalgic glint in Sarge’s eyes too as he nodded his head in silent agreement to what Doyle had said were their plans for afterwards.

“I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” He harrumphed quietly.

She grinned back at him, “Wouldn’t want to either.”

“Though I am not sure how shooting targets afterwards or drinking is an appropriate—“ Doyle began.

Kimball cut him off in mid-ramble, “It’s a bit hard to explain.”

“It makes sense though once you see it in action. Trust us.” Sarge assured his friend.

“If you say so.” Doyle still didn’t look too convinced, but Kimball was looking forward in an oddly joking way to seeing his reaction to some of Sarge’s more “explosive” targets.

Evidently, Doctor Grey already knew about them, because she cast a conspiratorial wink in the two Resistance fighters’ directions. No doubt Sarge had told her in a moment of intense excitement since he always looked forward to these events.

Doyle had been a massive help in gaining this newfound peace and trying to maintain it, yes, but he could still be a bit too by-the-book-written-by-the-Council at times. Helping to expose him to life outside of that would do him a world of good.

Wyoming looked over at them with an impatient glance, “Well, now that the pleasantries are done with, let’s get this over with. Shall we?”

“Yes, Reggie.” Gamma seemed to be in somber agreement with the mercenary.

They both said that, but it was actually the white-armored former Freelancer and his A.I. partner who stood the longest at the memorial site out of anyone. Wyoming’s head had been downcast to hide his expression from view the entire time. The two seemed lost in their own thoughts as they remained there in perfect silence.

Sarge glanced over at them with a sigh, “I think they need some time to themselves.” He muttered, a knowing look crossing over his features as he regarded Wyoming in particular.

Both he and Doyle moved off to the side to reminisce quietly, and Doctor Grey had apparently run into C.T. and Andersmith just at the two had been about ready to leave the site themselves. There had been two fresh bouquets at the foot of the fountain when they had approached it, and Kimball wondered if they had come from them.

They were going to meet up with the other lieutenants over at Chorus Park. Kimball caught snippets of excited, whispered information about the radiation levels of the underground lake there. She hadn’t been there yet herself, but desperately wanted to see it at some point the more she kept hearing about it for some reason she couldn’t quite explain. But, beyond smiling in greeting at them, she didn’t join in on their talk.

Sarge had asked her if she could write a few words down about today in her records if she felt up to it later and she was pondering just what to say in them.

“Hey.” She didn’t even startle at North’s voice behind her, nodding her head in silent greeting to both him and Theta.

“It went well, I think.” She remarked to his questioning glance over at everyone gathered there, “We’re almost ready to head out.”

“I’m glad.” North smiled softly, “I know it was something they’d been meaning to do for a while.”

Theta looked somber for a few seconds given the topic at hand, though he couldn’t help but become a bit more excited in the next couple of moments, “So, Sarge is going to use the fireworks I helped him design then?” He asked.

A nod, “Of course.” She assured the child-like A.I., “We’re giving Doyle the honor of setting them off first.”

“Oh, yes! I can’t wait!” He made a holographic display of fireworks explode in front of them just then in anticipation, “I’ll have to tell Junior all about it later!”

North smiled at his antics before looking at Kimball in amusement, “Does Doyle know?”

“It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if he did.” She smirked before adding a reassuring, “But, I’ll buy him a drink as a conciliatory gesture for the surprise afterwards.”

“That’s mighty generous of you.” He grinned back before letting out a tired sigh, “Though after target shooting I should probably check up on South again.”

“If you can wait a bit, I’d like to come too.” Kimball told him, continuing on before he could ask why that was, “She recently sent me a work request for when she’s healed that I want to discuss with her.”

For a second, North’s expression was one of complete and utter bewilderment as her words sank in. By the time Sarge was calling the two of them over to get moving to the location where the targets were set up, North was smiling quite a bit and Kimball wasn’t even certain that he was even aware that he was doing so.

She didn’t know _she_ was either until both Sarge and Doyle commented on it later with drinks in hand. Wyoming had left by then after joining in on a toast to _“Butch”_ and she was just about to go with North to the hospital. It had been a rather long time since she’d even thought that such a thing like smiling a lot was remotely possible for her anymore.

*****

It was well into the night when they were finally done moving all of Simmons’ asshole father’s shit out of the house. Though Simmons had been understandably upset and nervous in the beginning of the process, by the time the day had worn on and they were finished with it, he seemed to be practically beaming with relief.

The sight was enough to get Dexter Grif to smile himself, and he had to resist the urge to pull the lanky cyborg into a hug and impromptu make-out session. It was _really_ hard to resist doing just that though, and he only managed to avoid it due to the fact that Simmons apparently really wanted to show him something tonight.

If Grif delayed them, he knew that he’d probably never hear the end of it given how important whatever it was seemed to be to the other man. He was beyond perplexed when Simmons grabbed his hand and pulled him along without telling him anything about where exactly they were going until they were standing in front of the massive Mother of the Invention base, a facility that Grif had only recently even just received clearance for.

Grif stared up at the towering military structure with a frown before skeptically asking, “You were excited about coming _here_?”

Simmons nodded his head enthusiastically, beaming again with eager anticipation and completely oblivious to Grif’s very apparent confusion.

“To a military facility we’ve both been to before?” He continued with a blank look on his face, “Where we do work sometimes?”

Another nod. Simmons was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet at this point. It would be endearingly cute if the situation wasn’t quite so odd.

“On our day off from working?” Grif finished.

Simmons nodded a third time, and Grif was kicking himself by this point mentally for just not having gone with his initial make-out plan instead.

He let out a weary sigh, “This is the very, very sad epitome of a kiss-ass if there ever was one, Simmons.” He informed the other soldier, turning to leave.

The hand that suddenly reached out and gripped onto his arm with gentle insistence stopped him from going further than a step back, however.

“W—wait, Grif!” Simmons pleaded urgently, “I promise, we’re not here to do any kind of work!”

Grif raised a black eyebrow and waited for further explanation.

Simmons fidgeted awkwardly under his gaze, “There’s…there’s something I want to show you.” He told Grif nervously, hand still clutching onto the scarred man’s arm, “But you’re going to have to trust me.”

Grif was too curious by this point to say no, though when Simmons led them into the nearly deserted building and had them going up in an elevator, he _almost_ questioned why that was. He couldn’t stop the trill of panic that surged through him as the levels kept getting higher and higher with each floor they passed, his legs turning into jelly by the time they stepped out onto one of the highest floors of the ship-turned facility.

Thank fuck there were no windows immediately upon stepping out, so he couldn’t see outside but he just _knew_ and could imagine trying to see past that overlook on Level One again following the massacre and he wanted to puke.

Simmons held his hand and they went into a room that looked to be some kind of a rest or meeting space with an observational component off of the main hallway.

Grif stood completely frozen just inside the door, eyes suddenly glued to the floor once he had caught sight of the large expanse of window on the other side of the space. Sweat was sliding down in cold beads across his skin as he tried to somehow steady himself and keep breathing.

“I used to come here a lot when I worked at this base frequently.” Simmons remarked conversationally, his voice calm as if he was trying to pull Grif back from the edge of panic through it, “It reminded me of when you took me up to the rafters above Level One.”

When they’d both been dumb kids who hadn’t known what was going to happen later on, Grif wanted to say in response, but his voice wasn’t working just then. It was a struggle to keep getting air in his lungs.

Simmons carried on, glancing at Grif in concern as he did so, “I used to be terrified of heights, you know.” He admitted, and Grif vaguely remembered how he had reacted when Grif had told him that he had wanted to show the redhead the sight from the rafters back then, “But, after that? After that, they somehow became a connection to you.”

_That_ caused Grif’s eyes to jump up to Simmons’ face. The Above Grounder was red-faced, but his voice and eyes were clear and focused entirely on the man before him.

“You gave me a whole new perspective back then, Grif.” The redhead continued, his voice a little stronger now, “I want…I really want to help give that back to you.”

Unable to do anything but nod mutely in response, Grif remained completely focused on Simmons’ face as he gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and led them both over to the large viewing window.

“It’s okay.” He heard the cyborg murmuring gently close by his ear, “I’m right here, Grif.”

Grif took in one shaky, deep breath…and _looked_.

For a moment, all he saw and thought of was a wall of sheer, black panic that nearly stopped his breathing and heart entirely. Then the fear unclenched from around his chest ever so slowly. The blackness he saw began morphing into a night sky filled with the darkened outlines of clouds and dotted with stars farther up ahead.

The lights and buildings of Above Ground twinkled below them and, even further below them, Grif’s memories had him recalling all of the times as a boy that he’d climbed up onto the rafters and had looked down at everyone living their lives in the Slums farther down.

He could see and picture it all so _clearly_ through the glass, was looking at it all through a reflection of both himself and Simmons standing there together tightly holding one another’s hands.

He felt like he was flying. He was so overcome with emotion at the sensations that he felt as though he was nearly about to burst. He was fucking _happy_.

“Hey,” The Slums dweller asked, surprised at how only somewhat shaky his voice sounded just then, “You ever wonder why we’re here?”

He squeezed Simmons’ hand tightly at the same time that Simmons did his own, and he knew that the Above Grounder felt the same way he did at that very moment without him having to say anything.

“Not anymore.” Came Simmons’ response, and Grif couldn’t have said it any better himself.

They stood like that for a long while, holding hands and leaning against the other, completely lost in and enjoying the moment.

_Together._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! :D
> 
> I hope that the Epilogue ended things on a satisfactory note for everyone, and that I ended things on as enjoyable a note and with as much happy friendship moments and touching romance ones as I could! :)
> 
> This has been a wonderful story to write, and I cannot thank everyone enough who have enjoyed reading this AU and who have been so awesomely supportive throughout its evolution. Thank you all, truly. :)
> 
> Yes, ”Ruby” WAS a homage to another Rooster Teeth show that is currently airing its third season!
> 
> I hope to see you around with my future stories, and I hope this was a good way to close this tale out on. :D I had a great experience writing and sharing AG. Thank you so much again. :D


End file.
